THE  LIBRARIES 


Bequest  of 

Frederic  Bancroft 

1860-1945 


Along  the  Trail  of  the  Friendly  Years 


JOHN  JASPER 

By  W.  E.  HATCHER 

Illustrated,  12 mo,  cloth,  net  $1.00 


**  A  book  that  stirs  every 
emotion  of  the  human 
heart.  Once  taken  up  the 
book  cannot  be  put  down 
until  it  is  finished,  and  in  the 
reading,  one  will  laugh  and 
cry,  and  worship  and  pray, 
and  resolve,  and  stand  amazed 
at  the  marvelous  genius. 

—  Watchword  and  Truth, 


Along  the  Trail  of  the 
Friendly  Years 


By 
WILLIAM  E.  HATCHER,  LL.  D.,  L.  H.  D. 

Author  of  John  Jasper'' 


New  York         Chicago         Toronto 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

London       and       Edinburgh 


Copyright,   19 lo,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


^^?^^^ 

//^^3 


y/7/^  <^ 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  125  No.  Wabash  Avenue 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:      too    Princes   -Street'. 


To  my  son  Eldridge  Burwell  Hatcher^ 
whose  filial  devotion,  cheery  comrade- 
ship and  constant  helpfulness  have  added 
immeasurably  to  the  joy  and  com- 
fort of  my  life  I  dedicate  this  volume 


CONTENTS 


I. 

Discovering  the  World 

9 

II. 

Discovering  the  Other  World 

.      29 

III. 

Self- Discovery 

.       39 

IV. 

Training  for  Action 

•      47 

V. 

Going  at  It     . 

67 

VI. 

Sitting  in  the  Ashes 

.      90 

VII. 

A  Brief  Sojourn  in  Baltimore 

120 

VIII. 

Richard  Fuller  as  I  Saw  Him 

123 

IX. 

Seven  Years  in  Petersburg    . 

•     137 

X. 

Twenty-six  Years  to  a  Day  . 

158 

XI. 

Quitting  the  Sheepfold 

186 

XII. 

Wayside  and  Outside     . 

.     188 

XIII. 

The  Inevitable  Boy 

.     204 

XIV. 

Bethed  Building    . 

.     213 

XV. 

Shreds  of  a  Transatlantic  Outing 

.     222 

XVI. 

Glad  Days  with  Spurgeon     . 

. 

.     241 

XVII. 

Work  in  Colleges  and  in  the  Editorial 

Chair 

.     253 

XVIII. 

Nerve  Shakers 

.     277 

XIX. 

Rather  Too  Personal    . 

.     297 

XX. 

The  PEt  OF  THE  Evening 

309 

XXI. 

The  Incomparable  Jeff 

.     313 

XXII. 

Gleams  of  Humor  Along  the  Way 

.     332 

XXIII. 

The  Home- Coming  . 

. 

.     353 

Along  the  Trail  of  the  Friendly 
Years 

I 

DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD 

WHEX  I  opened  my  boyish  eyes  and  looked 
around,  it  was  a  primal  and  rustic  scene  which 
came  in  view.  What  I  did  not  see  was  a 
mother — that  was  a  vision  denied  me, — the  loss  of  which, 
dumbly  and  bitterly  enough,  I  realized.  They  tell  me  she 
was  fair,  highly  cultured  for  her  day,  a  teacher  until  she 
married  my  father, — then  not  far  from  fifty  years  of  age 
and  with  six  children  well-nigh  grown  up.  On  the  day  I 
was  four  years  of  age  I  saw  my  mother  on  the  bed  of 
death  and  never  forgot  it  and  then  saw  her  buried  beneath 
the  cherry  tree  back  of  the  garden  and  understood  noth- 
ing of  it,  though  faintly  remembering  it.  That  was  all  of 
a  mother  that  ever  crept  into  my  consciousness.  They 
told  my  brother  and  myself  that  she  used  much  of  her 
dying  breath  in  praying  that  we  might  be  ministers  and 
in  that  way  it  seems  she  entered  as  a  silent  factor  among 
the  forces  which  set  for  us  the  course  of  life. 

As  my  look  became  more  capable,  I  saw  great  moun- 
tains round  about  our  habitation  and  one  especially  they 
pointed  out  to  me  very  often.  They  called  it  the  ''  Peaks 
of  Otter"  and  it  looked  so  high  and  blue  I  thought  I 
could  climb  to  heaven  on  it.  My  boyish  wonder  hovered 
around  its  heights  and  in  some  way  it  became  ''my  moun- 
tain." I  grew  up,  loving  it  and  for  a  long  time  it  has 
been  to  me  the  fairest  and  most  wondrous  mountain  on 

9 


10  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

the  earth.  I  saw  in  time  the  blue,  burniug  mountains  of 
Mexico,  saw  the  weird  mountains  of  Northern  Scotland, 
saw  the  Alps  with  their  crags,  brakes,  peaks,  glaciers  and 
cascades,  but  not  one,  nor  all  together,  could  ever  sup- 
plant the  great  mountain  of  my  boyhood  wonder.  It  has 
come  to  be  a  personal  friend.  The  train  never  takes  me 
through  Bedford  but  that  I  watch  for  that  majestic, 
friendly,  beautiful  mountain.  In  my  boyhood  it  was  one 
of  my  friends  and  there  were  many  others  of  kin  and 
acquaintanceship  that  I  had  a  heart  for.  Now,  when  I  go 
that  way,  my  fine  old  "Peaks  of  Otter"  is  the  only 
friend  who  has  not  changed  ;  others  have  scattered  or  died 
but  this  friend  always  awaits  me  and  stands  up  to  greet 
me. 

The  look  about  my  neighborhood,  as  my  untutored 
eyes  saw  it,  was  plain,  indeed,  but  my  passion  for  place 
and  people  has  always  been  overmastering.  I  loved 
nearly  every  visible  thing  when  I  was  a  boy;  except, 
possibly,  I  drew  the  line  on  a  few  impossible  folks,  but  as 
I  peer  back  into  that  morning  of  my  beginning,  I  see  very 
few  that  I  did  not  believe  in  and  not  one  that  I  hated. 
At  home  I  found  my  big  brother  Henry,  an  incorrigible 
tease,  a  man  of  infinite  humor,  a  laugh-breeder  known  in 
all  those  parts  but,  with  it,  sweet  as  a  mother  in  his  love 
to  me  and  nearly  always  on  my  side  when  a  crisis  came  ; 
two  sisters,  one  of  whom  married  and  went  away.  I 
cried  my  eyes  out  about  it  but  she  went  and  in  later  years 
I  got  even  with  her.  She  became  a  widow  and  I  was  a 
young  bachelor  preacher  and  I  beguiled  her  into  keeping 
house  for  me  for  five  years  and  we  were  as  twins  in  our 
devotion  to  each  other.  She  bore  the  Bible  name  of  Dam- 
aris.  Then  there  was  sister  Margaret,  serious  minded, 
fond  of  books,  deeply  religious  and  her  example  lit  the 
way  that  lay  open  towards  the  heavenly  gate.  Only  a  few 
months  ago  she,  the  last  of  all  the  children,  went  within 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  11 

the  veil,  ready,  if  anybody  ever  was,  to  see  the  King  in 
His  beauty.  Then,  there  was  my  mother's  sou,  my  full 
brother  Harvey,  two  years  older  than  I,  and  we  two 
pulled  together,  though  with  temperaments,  tastes  and 
pastimes  pulling  us  apart.  But  of  him  I  will  speak  in 
another  ijlace. 

My  father  was  about  fifty  years  older  than  I  was.  He 
was  a  stalwart  old  farmer,  with  a  rugged  plantation,  a 
few  slaves  and  the  most  primitive  and  inadequate  equip- 
ments. I  slept  with  him  through  my  boyhood  days  and 
for  companionship  preferred  him  above  all  comers.  He 
was  very  affectionate  and  insisted  on  carrying  me  in  his 
arms  almost  until  my  dangling  feet  came  down  to  his 
knees.  He  thought  I  was  grievously  and  unpardonably 
lazy.  He  took  it  much  to  heart  but  would  not  drive  me. 
I  may  be  mistaken,  but  I  believe  now,  as  I  believed  then, 
that  I  was  not  made  to  work  in  the  dirt.  I  covered  him 
a  thousand  times  with  my  embraces  and  endearments  but 
I  always  drew  the  line  when  he  wanted  me  to  work  on  the 
farm.  As  a  fact,  I  did  work,  sometimes  with  a  plow, 
sometimes  with  a  hoe,  sometimes  with  an  axe,  sometimes 
with  a  wagon  and  sometimes  out  in  the  field  with  the 
negroes  but  I  can  cordially  acquit  myself  of  the  faintest 
desire  ever  to  do  anything  of  that  kind.  This  fault  of 
mine,  my  father  sought  by  all  adroitness  to  heal.  I 
remember  on  one  occasion  he  asked  me  if  I  was  very  fond 
of  sweet  potatoes,  a  fact  about  which  he  needed  not  to  in- 
quire, and  proposed  that  I  would  go  with  him  out  to  the 
patch  and  see  the  condition  of  the  crop.  Going  with  him 
was  the  top  of  life  to  me  but  when  the  journey  meant  work 
to  come,  that  was  quite  a  different  matter.  We  reached 
the  potatoes  and  found  the  vines  sorely  beset  with  grass. 
He  began  to  pull  it  up  and  finally  invited  me,  in  a  cheery 
way  ;  I  joined,  but  not  in  a  cheery  way,  and  after  a  while 
I  said  to  him,  brazenly  enough,  perhaps,  but  with  utmost 


12  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

seriousness,  that  I  had  come  fully  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  Lord  did  not  intend  for  me  to  work  in  the  dirt.  I 
saw  that  the  utterance  caused  him  to  quiver  but  he  did 
not  lose  his  temper  ;  he  said,  with  a  fine  touch  of  sorrow- 
ful satire,  ^'I  begin  to  think  that  it  is  true  and  I  have 
been  studying  why  it  was  that  God  made  you  at  all  and  I 
have  concluded  that  He  created  you  to  starve,  as  a  warn- 
ing for  all  idle  boys  that  may  come  on  later." 

^'  No,"  said  I,  *^  I  hope  not  j  I  do  not  expect  to  starve ; 
I  have  a  hope  that  I  will  always  have  enough  to  eat  and 
a  great  deal  of  it  that  is  good  but  I  do  not  think  that  I 
will  have  to  dig  it  out  of  the  ground. ' ' 

The  shadow  deepened  on  his  face  but  he  was  full  of  a 
noble  tenderness  and  he  said  no  more. 

A  little  while  after  that  Dr.  Jeremiah  B.  Jeter,  a 
nephew  of  my  father's  and  quite  a  distinguished  minister 
at  that  time,  came  on  a  visit  to  our  house  from  Richmond, 
where  he  was  then  pastor  of  the  First  Baptist  Church  in 
that  city.  My  father  was  thoroughly  devoted  to  him, 
trusted  him  and  admired  him  and  it  was  always  a  great 
point  of  pride  with  him  that  he  selected  the  woman  who 
became  Dr.  Jeter's  third  wife.  It  was  a  momentous  time 
with  us  when  ' '  Cousin  Jerry ' '  came  to  see  us.  The 
slaughter  among  lambs,  shoats  and  fowls  was  something 
frightful,  in  view  of  his  coming.  It  was  a  treat  to  me 
because  my  father  gave  up  everything  to  entertain  ' '  Jerry 
Bell,"  as  he  called  the  doctor  and  from  morning  till  night 
I  had  nothing  to  do  except  to  hear  Dr.  Jeter,  so  racy, 
buoyant,  hopeful  and  great-hearted,  talk.  It  was  truly  a 
millennial  dawn  to  me. 

One  afternoon  they  walked  over  to  see  my  Uncle  Tom, 
my  father's  only  surviving  brother, — except  one  or  two 
who  were  in  the  distant  West.  I  was  the  uninvited  guest 
of  the  occasion  and  rarely  missed  a  word.  On  our  return 
they  had  to  cross  a  rail  fence  and  they  took  seats  on  this 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  13 

fence  aud  had  quite  a  long  conversation.  I  cliauced  to 
pick  up  a  piece  of  soft  rock  and  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
corners  of  the  crooked  fence  to  carve  out  a  book,  for  once 
forgetful  of  them  and  they  entirely  forgetful  of  me. 

Presently,  I  heard  Dr.  Jeter  ask  my  father  how  his 
children  were  doing  and  my  father  made  reply,  which 
carried  quite  a  good  measure  of  pardonable  pride,  sum- 
ming up  the  statement  by  saying  that  all  of  them  were 
fully  satisfactory  except  one  and  then,  beginning  at  the 
oldest  and  coming  on  down  the  line,  somewhat  minutely 
described  each  one.  I  listened  largely  to  find  out  which 
one  it  was  who  was  so  imbittering  the  life  of  my  father 
by  misconduct  and  I  was  quite  ready  to  break  my  vials 
of  fury  on  the  head  of  the  ingrate  as  soon  as  his  name 
was  called.  Slowly  he  came  along  down  the  list,  having 
good  things  to  say  about  every  one,  until  he  reached  the 
end  of  the  line  and  I  only  was  left.  He  spoke  with 
fatherly  gentleness  but  uncovered  his  sorrow  in  regard  to 
me  by  saying  that  he  trembled  as  to  my  future.  He 
stated  that  he  felt  more  concern  and  unhappiness  about 
me  than  he  did  about  all  the  other  children  put  together. 
Hid  back  in  the  corner  of  the  fence,  I  heard  his  state- 
ment, shocked  with  shame,  and  I  was  a  little  curious  to 
know  how  it  was  that  I  was  breaking  the  old  gentleman's 
heart  in  such  a  pitiless  way.  Dr.  Jeter  expressed  much 
regret  and  seemed  to  be  wonder-struck  that  I  was  turning 
out  to  be  such  a  miscreant.  The  thing  struck  him  as  a 
tragedy  and,  after  beating  around  the  bush  a  while,  he 
spoke. 

^'Is  he  vicious?"  he  asked,  with  grave  anxiety.  If 
somebody  had  shot  me,  I  do  not  believe  that  I  would 
have  jumped  higher.  That  word  '^vicious"  I  had  never 
heard  before  in  my  life  and  really  did  not  know  exactly 
what  it  meant,  but  there  was  something  deadly  in  the 
emphasis  put  upon  it  by  Dr.  Jeter.     If  my  father  had 


14  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

said  that  I  was  vicious,  I  would  hav^e  felt  that  the  day  of 
my  execution  ought  to  be  set.  I  waited  in  a  tremor  to 
hear  what  would  come  next.  To  my  infinite  consolation, 
my  father  broke  into  the  pleasantest  laugh  that  I  ever 
heard  from  him. 

'^Why,  no,'^  he  said,  ^'he  is  not  vicious,  but  is  the 
most  affectionate  of  all  my  children  and  would  never  get 
out  of  sight  of  me  if  he  could  help  it." 

That  put  the  matter  in  a  better  light  and  my  self- 
respect,  so  suddenly  shattered,  began  to  pick  up  again. 

'^What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  Dr.  Jeter  asked,  as 
if  he  were  bewildered. 

*'He  is  no  account  upon  the  earth,"  said  my  father, 
^'for  work.  He  hates  any  kind  of  work  in  the  dirt  and 
says  that  he  does  not  believe  that  God  has  made  him  to 
work  in  the  dirt." 

''What  does  he  do?"  said  Dr.  Jeter.  ''How  does  he 
spend  his  time  ? ' ' 

"Why,  he  does  nothing  except  to  read,"  said  my  fa- 
ther ;  "it  is  books  when  he  gets  up,  books  all  day  and 
books  at  night  j  he  knows  every  book  on  the  plantation 
by  heart." 

There  my  good  father  went  astray  ;  I  did  not  know  all 
the  books  by  heart  on  the  plantation,  though  if  I  had,  I 
would  have  still  been  mortally  ignorant  of  very  many 
things,  for  the  books  at  our  house  were  few  and  dull. 

Then  came  Dr.  Jeter's  time  to  laugh. 

"  Send  him  to  school,"  said  Dr.  Jeter.  "  It  may  be  that 
the  Lord  has  made  him  that  way,  sure  enough ;  there  are 
many  things  for  people  to  do  besides  work  on  the  farm 
and,  while  I  am  sorry  he  has  such  an  aversion  to  it,  I  am 
glad  to  know  that  he  is  not  rebellious  nor  wicked  nor  hard 
to  manage." 

I  was  still  sitting  back  in  the  fence  corner  and  the  out- 
come of  it  left  me  in  a  tremor,  for  I  was  yet  uncertain 


DISCOVEEING  THE  WORLD  15 

whether  my  father  felt  towards  me  as  I  would  have  him 
feel,  for  largely  my  life  was  wrapped  up  in  him. 

He  never  mentioned  that  interview  to  me  at  all  but  about 
a  month  afterwards  I  was  placed  in  quite  an  excellent 
school ;  there  I  remained  for  nearly  three  years ;  there  I 
laid  the  foundation  for  the  moderate  education  which  it 
was  my  good  fortune  afterwards  to  gain. 

Life  was  on  a  narrow  scale  in  my  little  Bedford  neigh- 
borhood. We  were  twelve  miles  from  the  county  seat, 
had  mail  once  a  week,  and  church  once  a  month,  when 
the  weather  was  good.  A  blacksmith^  s  shop,  a  tan-yard 
and  a  store,  with  a  mill  farther  on,  constituted  all  of  our 
public  interests.  As  I  had  no  horse  to  shoe,  no  letters  to 
write  or  receive,  not  a  copper  to  buy  anything  with  and 
did  not  belong  to  the  church,  my  communication  with 
the  outer  world  amounted  to  naught.  This  statement 
was  modified  by  one  exception.  I  did  attain  to  the 
honor  of  being  a  mill  boy  and  every  Saturday  morning 
*'  Old  Fillie^'  was  bridled,  a  bag  of  corn  was  balanced  on 
her  back  and  the  giant  arms  of  my  brother  hoisted  me 
astride  the  mare  and  bag  and,  with  only  the  necessary 
garb  in  warm  weather  to  save  me  from  public  disgrace,  I 
jogged  my  way  over  to  Chilton's  Mill.  There  I  always 
had  an  interesting  time.  The  proprietor  of  the  mill  had 
a  most  unsavory  name  in  that  community  but  he  was 
rich,  he  had  quite  a  handsome  assortment  of  books,  al- 
ways welcomed  me  into  his  office,  was  a  glib  and  captiva- 
ting talker  and  was  one  of  two  or  three  men  on  the  earth 
at  that  time  who  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  my  existence 
when  I  came  along.  It  added  immeasurably  to  my  self- 
respect  that  he  would  frequently  invite  me,  while  I  was 
waiting  for  my  grist,  to  accompany  him  to  his  house  for 
dinner.  This  pleased  me  exceedingly  and  I  was  always 
quick  to  report,  when  I  returned  home,  with  what  ex- 
traordinary consideration  I  was  treated.     But  let  me  say 


16  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

here  aud  possibly  explain  afterwards  that  for  some  rea- 
son, not  at  all  understood  by  me  at  the  time,  I  could  not 
eat  the  great  man's  dinner.  There  was  a  constraint  in 
the  house  that  weighed  upon  me  like  a  mountain  ;  the  air 
seemed  freighted  with  death  and,  while  I  could  not  tell 
why,  when  I  got  out  and  away  from  the  house,  I  had  an 
irresistible  impulse  to  fill  the  hills  with  my  shouts.  In 
after  days  the  secret  came  out — the  darkest,  most  tragical 
and  the  most  ruinous  of  all  the  secrets  that  I  have  known 
on  the  earth. 

At  that  mill  there  was  employed  a  modest  but  sensible 
and  attractive  young  man.  He  looked  after  the  grinding 
of  the  grain  and  also  the  carding  of  the  wool  and,  while 
perhaps  almost  ten  years  older  than  myself,  he  was  the 
most  congenial  and  helpful  person  in  the  entire  neigh- 
borhood to  me.  He  came  of  a  plain  but  respectable 
family  but  it  was  by  his  own  merit  that  he  won  his  way 
in  the  neighborhood.  He  went  out  of  that  mill  to  enter 
school  as  a  ministerial  student  and,  after  graduating  at 
the  old  Columbian  College  in  Washington  City,  he  took 
a  little  mission  church  in  a  repulsive  part  of  Washington, 
where  he  encountered  the  gravest  drawbacks  and  diffi- 
culties j  but  he  went  there  to  stay  and  that  was  his  only 
pastorate,  which  lasted  over  fifty  years.  He  saw  that 
part  of  the  town  traDsformed  into  beauty,  saw  his  church 
grow  into  strength  and  fill  up  with  large  numbers, 
and  saw  completed  one  of  the  handsomest  churches  in 
the  city.  On  all  the  earth  I  had  no  better  friend  than 
Rev.  Dr.  Chastain  C.  Meador,  who  was  my  soul's  un- 
changing brother,,  and  when  that  notable  memorial  service 
was  held  in  his  honor  in  the  city  of  Washington,  I  was 
chosen  to  make  the  historical  address  on  the  occasion. 

We  were  not  rich  enough  to  have  many  servants,  but 
we  had  some,  and  my  recollections  of  them  are  very 
tender  and  interesting.     Uncle  Sam  was  an  old  man,  or 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  17 

Seemed  so  to  me,  when  I  was  a  boy.  He  was  not  very 
bright,  but  was  the  soul  of  honesty,  always  ready  to  work 
and  full  of  kindness  to  me.  He  drove  the  wagon,  and  it 
was  a  part  of  the  pride  of  my  childhood  that  he  was 
always  glad  to  let  me  go  with  him  when  he  could  and  he 
would  please  me  by  letting  me  handle  the  reins  and  some- 
times crack  the  whip.  Aunt  Charity,  his  well-behaved 
wife,  kept  her  cabin  clean  and  nice.  She  was  high- 
tempered  enough  to  give  the  boys  the  pleasure  of  fretting 
her  sometimes,  and  I  would  not  disturb  her  sleeping  dust 
by  misrepresenting  her,  but  if  she  did  not  henpeck  Uncle 
Sam,  then  I  was  incapable  of  understanding  what  form 
of  amusement  henpeckiug  was  in  those  days.  But  Uncle 
Sam  adored  her — in  his  dull  eyes  she  was  perfection  on 
the  earth  and  nothing  he  had  or  could  do  was  counted 
dear  to  him  if  it  would  please  her.  They  had  a  daughter 
and  her  name  was  Charlotte,  a  proud,  haughty  and  over- 
bearing woman.  She  was  the  cook  and  the  children  knew 
that  they  had  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  her,  and  she 
affected  all  sorts  of  tyrannies  and  cruelties  to  keep  us 
in  proper  subjection,  so  that  we  would  not  invade  her 
kingdom  and  rifle  her  shelves.  She  would  lock  the 
kitchen  on  us  and  call  high  heaven  to  witness  that  she 
would  not  give  us  a  mouthful  to  save  us  from  an  untimely 
tomb  and  then  set  biscuit  and  other  things  in  the  window, 
where  she  knew  that  we  would  steal  them  ;  and  this  she 
did,  partly  because  in  reality  she  loved  us,  and  partly 
because  she  wanted  to  provide  a  new  pretext  for  break° 
ing  forth  in  other  volcanoes  of  pretentious  wrath. 

Charlotte  married  the  most  aristocratic  negro  in  the 
neighborhood.  He  was  a  widower,  with  enough  dig- 
nity to  start  a  palace  and  with  a  right  snug  little  treasury 
of  his  own  ;  he  was  head  man  on  a  great  plantation  and, 
of  course,  had  the  proud  distinction  of  being  hated  by  all 
the  least  respectable  of  the  slaves  who  worked  under 


18  ALONG  TPIE  TRAIL 

him.  I  never  believed  that  Charlotte  loved  him,  but  she 
did  not  need  a  husband  to  love,  she  needed  a  man  to 
be  proud  of,  one  who  could  set  her  above  the  common 
run  and  take  her  around  on  spectacular  occasions.  They 
had  their  house  and  little  yard  fixed  up  with  a  special 
view  of  exciting  the  envy  of  all  of  the  neighbors.  There 
were  others.  But  peace  to  their  ashes  !  They  can  have 
no  place  here. 

I  never  had  but  three  companions  outside  of  our  home 
and  they  were  three  cousins.  Eobert  was  the  oldest  of 
the  three,  five  or  six  years  older  than  I  was,  good-na- 
tured, mortally  dull  and  too  grown-up  to  covet  any  inti- 
macy with  me.  In  my  boyhood  days  the  turning  out 
place  for  a  boy  was  when  he  got  a  broadcloth  suit  of 
clothes.  It  was  with  a  quaking  heart  that  I  heard  that 
Robert  would  appear  the  next  Sunday  in  his  ''broad- 
cloth." It  was  a  straining  event  with  me.  It  meant  that 
he  was  to  be  grown,  that  he  would  be  expected  to  go  to 
see  the  girls  and  that  the  days  of  his  boyhood  were  clean 
gone  forever.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  was  about  to  die. 
I  really  wondered  what  he  would  look  like  and  whether 
I  could  talk  to  him  just  as  I  had  done  before.  To  my 
surprise,  almost  to  my  contempt,  he  walked  over  that 
afternoon  pinked  up  in  his  ''broadcloth."  Even  I  could 
see  that  it  did  not  fit ;  I  saw  too  that  he  had  his  pants,  as 
we  called  them  then,  rolled  up,  and  he  looked  about  as 
common,  except  his  clothes,  as  I  had  ever  seen  him.  It 
was  a  distinct  disappointment  to  me  ;  "broadcloth"  did 
not  fulfill  my  expectations.  It  could  not  make  a  star  out 
of  plain  and  stupid  Bob.  The  enchantment  of  the  change 
was  gone  and  from  that  time  Bob  swung  between  a  re- 
luctant companionship  with  the  boys  and  a  grotesque 
struggle  to  mix  with  the  girls. 

My  second  cousin  was  Tom.  He  was  handsome,  grave, 
and,  as  he  stayed  in  a  store,  he  wore  store-clothes.    What 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  19 

added  incomparably  to  his  significance  in  my  eyes  was 
that  he  had  a  sweetheart,  whom  he  never  mentioned  and 
rarely  went  with.  He  sang  charmingly ;  indeed,  I  envied 
him  his  beautiful  voice  and  the  rich  tenor  notes.  It  cut 
me  very  low  when  it  was  announced  that  he  was  going  to 
Missouri.  That  was  in  the  long,  long  ago  and,  though 
he  is  living,  I  have  never  seen  him  and  have  never  ex- 
changed a  letter  with  him  since  we  parted.  So  cheap 
and  perishing  are  childish  friendships,  and  yet  he  lives 
in  me  and  influences  me  to  this  day. 

The  youngest  of  the  trio  was  Henry.  He  was  nearer 
to  me  in  age,  very  kindly  uatured  but  motherless  and 
dependent  and  my  boyish  soul  clung  to  him  with  ardor 
undying.  A  thing  occurred  with  Henry  that  struck  me 
a  blow  from  which  I  never  recovered.  He  was  probably 
three  years  older  than  I  was,  himself  about  thirteen  and  I 
about  ten.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  never  had  any  very  dis- 
tinct religious  convictions.  In  a  boy' s  crude  way  I  thought 
religion  was  a  good  thing  and  that  some  time  it  would 
come  my  way,  but  little  did  I  know  what  it  was,  nor  how 
it  would  come  and  surely  I  was  not  in  any  hurry  to  have 
it  come.  They  had  their  August  meeting  at  the  Mount 
Hermon  Church,  a  church  founded  at  first  by  my  grand- 
father, Jeremiah  Hatcher,  and  called  for  many  years  after 
his  name.  Quite  loog  before  my  appearance  upon  the 
earth  they  had  moved  the  church  and  changed  its  name  to 
Mount  Hermon.  One  day  during  that  meeting  I  went 
into  the  church  in  the  afternoon  and  sat  far  back  towards 
the  door  and  Henry  had  a  seat  on  a  bench  in  front  of  me. 
I  recall  him  now,  a  biggish,  rough  boy ;  his  hair  long 
grown  and  unkempt ;  his  clothes  coarse  of  stuflF,  home- 
made and  ill-fitting  ;  his  face  sunburned  and  disfigured 
with  reddish  bumps  and  his  look,  even  to  my  eyes,  was 
desolate,  though  I  thought  he  had  been  made  that  way 
and  would  have  to  stay  that  way.    The  sermon  was  over, 


20  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

the  congregation  was  standing,  the  revival  song  was 
breaking  with  almost  cyclonic  power  through  the  house 
and  people  were  going  forward  as  **  mourners,  ^^  as  relig- 
ious inquirers  were  then  called.  I  was  back  there,  eye- 
ing things  with  shy  curiosity  but  with  not  a  religious 
twinge  in  any  part  of  my  being.  I  chanced  to  look  up 
towards  the  pulpit  and  saw  a  young  woman  walking 
down  the  aisle  in  my  direction.  The  sight  startled  me, 
for  in  those  days  men  and  women  sat  apart  in  the  church 
and  the  sight  of  a  young  girl  venturing  down  our  aisle 
startled  even  me.  She  was  dressed  in  spotless  white, 
evidently  timid  and  unused  to  what  she  was  doing. 
When  she  got  down  to  Henry  she  turned  into  the  bench 
and  walked  in  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
She  was  my  sister  and  one  of  earth's  purest,  but  for  that 
time  I  was  shaken  with  great  surprise.  I  wondered  what 
she  wanted  with  Henry  and  presently  I  found  out.  I 
heard  her  say,  ^' Henry,  I  have  been  praying  for  you,' ^ 
and  I  know  perfectly  well  that  I  never  heard  anything 
before  that  had  such  tenderness  and  sweetness  as  marked 
her  words.  As  for  Henry,  he  melted  at  once  and  began 
to  weep  and  I,  dumb  with  wonder,  looked  on  and  felt  ex- 
cited in  a  new  spot  of  my  being.  I  stood  at  an  angle  that 
enabled  me  to  see  Henry's  face.  It  ran  with  tears  and  I 
saw  some  of  them  leap  from  his  eyes  to  his  rough  clothes  ; 
his  frame  shook  with  convulsed  emotion.  That  was  all 
she  said  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  that  was  enough.  I 
knew  what  she  meant ;  I  knew  what  she  was  down  there 
for.  ''I  came  for  you,  Henry,  if  you  feel  that  you  want 
to  make  a  start  for  the  Christian  life  ;  and  if  you  do,  I 
would  like  to  take  your  hand  and  go  with  you.'^ 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  in  another  world  and  such 
a  jumble  of  emotions  and  perplexities  stormed  through 
my  soul  that  I  knew  not  what  to  do  except  to  watch 
Henry.     Slowly  he  lifted  up  his  big,  rough,  battered  hand 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  21 

and  held  it  out  to  her.  She  took  hold  of  it  with  one  hand 
and  put  the  other  around  his  shoulder,  and,  as  they 
moved  out  into  the  aisle  and  went  towards  the  pulpit,  there 
thumped  into  my  soul  the  tremendous  conviction  that  re- 
ligion was  about  the  biggest  thing  that  had  ever  gotten 
into  this  world.  I  knew  also  that  the  young  woman  was 
fall  of  it  and  that  Henry  had  gone  to  look  for  it  and, 
what  was  more,  I  wanted  to  go  too,  but  I  was  a  mere 
scrap  of  a  chap  and  about  all  that  I  knew  was  that  every- 
body in  that  house  would  think  that  I  was  a  fool  if  I  went 
and  I  did  not  go. 

In  a  little  while  it  was  abroad  that  Henry  was  converted. 
I  had  no  idea  on  earth  what  it  meant  except  that  it  must 
be  that  something  had  happened  to  him  in  the  way  of 
religion.  I  looked  at  him  with  awe  and  when  he  was 
baptized  I  loDged  to  know  what  was  the  matter  and  how 
he  felt  and  all  about  it  but  I  hid  my  thoughts.  Henry 
proved  to  be  no  saint ;  indeed,  he  was  a  little  too  much  like 
he  had  been  for  producing  the  best  effect  on  me  and  yet  I 
never  doubted  him.  He  was  truth  embodied,  not  fond 
of  books,  not  gifted,  but  there  was  a  genuineness  in  him 
that  I  feasted  on.  A  few  years  turned  him  into  a  man 
and  entangled  him  into  a  premature  but  a  most  devoted 
and  happy  marriage.  Then  came  that  unforgetable  hor- 
ror, the  Civil  War,  and  Henry,  with  wet  face,  kissed  his 
wife  and  baby  good-bye  and  went  to  be  a  soldier.  Some- 
where near  Harper's  Ferry  on  the  Potomac  a  hostile  shot 
crashed  through  him.  They  took  him  to  Winchester 
and  for  days  he  languished  in  the  hospital.  It  was  said 
that  he  wrote  back  to  Bedford  that  he  was  greatly  dis- 
tressed that  he  could  not  get  to  Mount  Hermon  any 
more.  He  loved  his  church  and  loved  his  Saviour  and 
loved  the  good  old  people  at  Mount  Hermon  and  wished 
that  he  could  come  again  before  he  died  but  that  it  did 
not  matter  so  much,  he  was  ready  for  his  end  j  the  hope 


22  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

which  broke  into  his  soul  in  that  revival  had  never  died 
and  was  with  him  in  the  hospital  as  his  abounding  com- 
fort and  support  and  that  if  they  could  not  meet  on  earth, 
it  would  not  be  hard  to  wait  until  they  could  be  together 
on  the  other  shore.  After  I  became  a  Christian,  Henry 
and  I  were  true  yokefellows  and  we  used  to  meet  in  the 
woods,  sing  the  mountain  songs  and  cheer  each  other 
in  our  religious  struggles. 

Only  a  few  months  ago  I  was  summoned  to  Bedford  to 
attend  the  funeral  of  that  woman  who,  over  sixty  years 
before,  had  prayed  for  Henry  and  had  brought  him  out 
into  the  light.  Her  body  was  put  to  rest  in  the  rude 
cemetery  at  the  old  church.  A  generation  that  knew  not 
Henry  surged  around  her  grave  and  I  told  the  story  of 
Henry's  conversion,  feeling  sure  that  it  was  a  bit  of  his- 
tory that  carried  in  it  the  seeds  of  eternal  life  and  that 
others  would  come  the  way  that  Henry  came  because 
they  heard  how  he  came,  and  that  others  yet  would  pity 
motherless  and  lonely  boys  and  offer  a  hand  of  help  to 
them  in  their  struggle  to  attain  eternal  life. 

I  learned  early  in  life  that  it  was  a  contradictory  thing, 
and  yet  possible,  for  a  boy  to  love  a  man  to  idolatry  and 
yet  be  teased  out  of  existence  by  the  waggishness,  buf- 
foonery and  satire  of  that  identical  man.  That  man  was 
my  brother  Henry.  In  my  estimate,  princes  and  kings 
were  trivial  circumstances  compared  with  him.  He  could 
put  me  into  convulsions  by  blinking  his  eye  or  by  an  odd 
pantomime  or  by  a  witticism  or  even  a  look.  He  could 
almost  break  up  a  dinner  party  by  a  single  remark  sug- 
gested by  the  occasion  and  irresistible  by  reason  of  its 
aptness  and  humor.  His  fun-making,  I  suppose,  was 
always  kindly  intended  but  it  was  as  sharp  as  needles  and 
sometimes  as  stinging  in  its  effect. 

I  do  not  think  that  I  had  but  one  every-day  suit  for 
winter  and  that  was  made  of  wool  taken  from  the  backs 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  23 

of  our  sheep,  carded,  spun  and  woven  in  our  house, 
dj^ed  with  ill-odored,  home-made  dyes,  cut  out  and  war- 
ranted not  to  fit  and  was  ugly  and  unattractive  and 
usually  very  slow  to  wear  out.  But  one  winter  mine  did 
wear  out  and  I  was  not  sufficiently  presentable  to  go  to 
school  where  the  rich  boys  and  girls  of  the  neighborhood 
went  and,  after  long  consultation,  it  was  decided  that  a 
pair  of  my  big  brother's  trousers  should  be  cut  and 
whacked  and  knocked  up  for  my  use  during  the  rest  of 
the  season.  I  opposed  it  openly  and  with  scornful  de- 
fiance. I  told  them  that  I  did  not  want  to  wear  anybody's 
old  clothes  and  what  added  to  the  horror  of  it  all,  when 
they  were  ready  for  me  to  try  them,  the  reconstructed 
pants  refused  to  fit  me  in  any  single  spot.  I  was  angry 
enough  to  fight  the  whole  earth  when  I  tried  them  on  and 
with  cowering  shame  I  fled  from  inspection.  "What  added 
grievously  to  my  discomfort  was  the  infinite  ridicule  and 
merriment  of  my  brother.  To  him  it  was  a  jubilee,  a 
revel,  a  comedy  and  the  sparks  of  his  wit  never  flew 
thicker  or  faster  than  when,  in  dire  necessity,  I  was  com- 
pelled to  wear  those  pants.  It  was  a  humiliating,  embit- 
tering, infuriating  experience  and  the  more  I  was  miser- 
able about  it,  the  richer  was  the  strain  of  hilarity  and 
merriment  on  my  brother's  part.  I  threatened  several 
times  to  hate  him  for  the  balance  of  my  natural  life  and 
would  have  been  delighted  to  do  it  except  that  I  felt 
sometimes  even  when  I  wanted  to  choke  him  that  I  merely 
wanted  to  hug  him.  One  time,  however,  my  patience 
went  wild  and  in  my  towering  rage  I  confronted  him  and 
they  say  I  delivered  the  following  eloquent  address  on  the 
occasion  : 

^^  Very  well,  go  on  with  your  gibes  and  cruel  treatment 
of  me.  I  will  wear  your  old  suits,  though  I  despise  them 
while  I  do  it.  I  wear  them  because  I  can  do  no  better 
now,  but  I  tell  you  the  day  of  vengeance  will  come.     I 


24  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

expect  to  live  yet  to  see  the  day  when  you  will  be  glad 
to  wear  my  old  clothes." 

This  added  to  the  jests  of  the  hour  and  whenever 
friends  came  in  and  I  was  about,  the  pants,  ill-fitting  and 
horrible  to  me,  became  the  topic  of  talk  and  it  was  gen- 
erally added  that  I  had  uttered  a  prophecy  that  the  time 
would  come  when  my  brother  would  feel  proud  to  inherit 
my  cast-off  clothes.  Truly  it  can  be  said  that  the  episode 
of  the  breeches  left  no  scars  on  my  soul  and  never  abated 
one  jot  my  admiring  affection  for  my  brother,  but  it  must 
be  admitted  that  my  prophecy  clove  to  my  memory  and 
I  was  earthly  minded  enough  to  hope  that  its  fulfillment 
would  come. 

It  did  come,  and  came  sooner  than  I  expected  and  in 
a  way  that  I  could  not  enjoy  very  much  because  the  sur- 
prise of  it  was  something  that  my  brother  could  not  enjoy 
at  all.  When  I  finished  at  college  I  went  to  be  a  pastor 
in  Manchester,  Va.  Every  young  preacher  of  any  parts 
has  his  little  run  of  popularity  and  I  had  mine.  It  did 
not  run  very  far,  nor  very  long  nor  very  high  but  in  the 
matter  of  clothes,  in  no  great  while,  I  became  overstocked. 
My  brother  was  a  farmer,  kindly  taking  care  of  the  old 
home  and  full  of  courteousness  to  our  old  father,  and  I 
went  for  the  first  time  after  my  pastorate  began  up  to  the 
old  Bedford  home  for  a  week's  visit.  In  packing  to  go  I 
determined  to  take  along  some  cast-off  clothing  for  the 
servants,  which  I  knew  they  would  be  glad  to  get  for  Sun- 
day wear  and,  while  doing  this,  the  memory  of  the  red- 
yarn  breeches  loomed  before  me.  I  had  quite  an  elegant 
suit ;  one  capable  of  much  respectable  wear  yet,  but  I 
slipped  that  suit  in.  My  brother  and  myself  roomed  to- 
gether. All  the  week  I  had  those  clothes  in  my  trunk 
but  said  nothing.  I  was  to  remain  over  Sunday  and 
preach.  Saturday  morning  as  we  were  dressing,  I  drew 
out  the  clothes  that  I  carried  for  the  colored  people  and 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  25 

told  my  brother  that  he  could  distribute  them  in  the  way 
that  would  count  best  and  then  I  said  in  a  casual,  far- 
away manner  that  there  was  a  suit  that  I  thought  pos- 
sibly he  might  put  on  to  ride  over  the  farm,  to  the  post- 
office  or  at  such  times  as  might  suit  him.  I  spoke  doubt- 
fully and  modestly  and  landed  the  bundle  on  the  bed  in 
plain  view  and  went  on  talking  about  other  things. 
Meanwhile,  I  watched  my  brother  and  I  actually  gurgled 
with  glee  as  I  saw  him  pick  up  the  clothes  and  sample 
them  piece  by  piece. 

*'  Why  do  you  not  wear  these  clothes?"  he  asked,  evi- 
dently interested.  I  told  him  in  the  most  careless,  non- 
chalant manner  that  I  had  rather  an  overstock  of  clothes 
and  I  did  not  believe  that  I  would  need  that  suit  again 
but  that  he  must  not  be  bothered  with  it. 

^'  Bothered  with  it?  "  he  inquired ;  ^^  it's  an  excellent 
suit  and  quite  handsome  and  I  will  be  delighted  to  accept 
it  if  it  does  not  deprive  you."     I  told  him  that  settled  it. 

The  next  morning  he  and  I  rode  to  church  on  horse- 
back in  company.  When  we  were  dismounting  quite  a 
string  of  my  friends,  kins-people,  schoolmates  and  others 
came  forth  to  give  me  a  greeting  and,  after  a  hand-shake, 
one  of  them  turned  to  my  brother  and  congratulated  him 
upon  being  dressed  so  handsomely  and  threw  at  him  the 
joke  that  he  was  evidently  going  out  on  one  more  roman- 
tic campaign.  Several  joined  in  to  compliment  him  upon 
his  handsome  appearance  and  he  carried  it  off  with  char- 
acteristic ease  and  humor. 

Just  the  same  I  knew  that  he  had  on  my  old  clothes 
and  that  all  of  this  demonstration  bore  on  the  little 
matter  between  him  and  myself,  which  occurred  just  ten 
years  before,  but  I  said  nothing.  That  afternoon  there 
was  a  sort  of  neighborhood  rally  at  our  house;  the 
great  room  which  we  called  the  parlor  was  filled  up  and 
the  tide  of  friendly  chat  and  rustic  humor  rolled  high. 


26  ALOiS^G  THE  TRAIL 

I  had  put  one  or  two  friends  into  my  secret  and  in  the 
midst  of  all  our  genial  clatter,  one  of  these  men  tempted 
my  brother  to  revive  some  of  his  favorite  jokes  on  me. 
That  opened  the  flood-gates  and  such  a  train  of  laughable 
and  ludicrous  stories  my  brother  turned  loose  on  me  that 
afternoon. 

^'Tell  the  story  of  the  red  breeches/^  some  one  cried 
out  and  my  brother,  blissfully  oblivious  of  what  might 
come,  told  the  story  with  infinite  gusto  and  almost  turned 
the  company  into  a  mob  of  laughter  and  happy  excite- 
ment. 

*'  What  was  it  he  said  about  his  old  clothes  ?  ^^  another 
asked  and  even  then  my  brother,  though,  I  think,  dimly 
apprehensive  that  he  was  treading  on  the  crumbling  edge 
of  things,  told  all  about  it  in  his  inimitable  way.  Then 
came  the  explosion — far  more  overwhelming  than  I  could 
have  dreamed  of. 

^*  Where  did  you  get  those  fine  clothes  you  got  on  now, 
Henry  ? "  he  was  asked  and  then  the  whole  story  came 
out.  They  scourged  him  with  a  tornado  of  jests  and 
rollick  and  banter.  I  cannot  say  that  I  enjoyed  the 
victory  very  keenly.  I  was  human  enough  to  plan  it 
and  to  push  it  but  the  retribution  of  it  had  scant  rplish 
for  me  and  never  in  a  lifetime  afterwards  was  the  matter 
again  mentioned  between  us  but  once  and  that  in  a  casual 
and  by  no  means  jocular  way. 

When  I  peer  back  into  those  far-away  days  and  see 
myself  as  a  lad,  I  confess  that  my  soul  melts  with  com- 
passion for  the  motherless,  lonesome,  ambitious  boy  that 
I  was.  I  fairly  died  for  appreciation.  I  did  not  know 
what  was  the  matter  but  I  suffered  unutterably  for  the 
want  of  a  mother,  for  an  intelligent  sympathy,  for  some 
one  who  could  mark  my  little  sorrows,  dress  my  little 
wounds,  wipe  off  my  tears  when  I  cried  and  kiss  me 
when  I  went  to  bed.     A  thousand  times  or  more  I  have 


DISCOVERING  THE  WORLD  27 

stated  tliat  I  did  not  know  what  was  meant  by  the 
pleasures  of  childhood ;  they  did  not  come  to  me.  I 
dare  say  that  there  was  little  in  me  that  was  attractive  ; 
they  tell  me  that  I  was  sickly,  sensitive  and  too  fond  of 
being  alone.  Books  were  my  companions  and  it  was  a 
sorry  lot  of  books  I  had,  but  if  I  could  feel  fit  to  give 
people  advice  in  regard  to  boys,  I  would  urge  that  they 
treat  them  with  more  reverence.  Men  shy  off  from  boys  as 
if  they  were  an  incurable  nuisance  and  incapable  of  being 
shaped  up  for  the  future.  I  verily  believe  that  of  all 
classes  of  human  beings  boys,  if  properly  respected  and 
duly  recognized  and  delicately  appreciated,  are  the  most 
flexible  and  responsive  of  all  human  material  to  work  on. 
I  recall  three  men  who  did  more  to  inspire  me  than 
everybody  else  put  together.  They  were  not  great  men 
— they  were  not  popular  men  and  they  did  not  have  very 
much  opportunity  to  help  me  but  they  said  things  that 
counted  with  me.  One  was  a  man  with  fatal  blemishes  and 
of  a  tragic  nature,  but  he  gave  me  books  to  read  and 
talked  with  me  about  what  I  read  and  made  me  feel  that 
the  book  world  was  created  for  boys.  Another  was  an 
old  farmer,  a  Methodist  and  many  said  a  skinflint,  but 
he  reared  a  beautiful  family  and  one  of  my  brothers 
married  his  daughter  and  in  that  way  I  used  to  have  to 
go  on  occasional  errands  to  his  house.  He  talked  with 
me  about  my  school  and  complimented  me  on  reports 
which  had  come  to  him  from  others  and,  though  un- 
cultivated himself,  he  made  me  feel  that  it  was  something 
great  to  get  an  education.  He  said  to  me  one  day  that 
he  wished  his  boy  loved  to  go  to  school  as  I  did  and  it 
had  not  occurred  to  me  before  that  I  did  love  to  go  to 
school  so  much,  until  lie  said  it.  The  other  benefactor 
was  the  venerable  old  doctor  and  deacon  in  the  Mount 
Hermon  Church — not  a  doctor  in  reality,  but  he  was  a 
very  respectable  doctor  after  his  own  sort.     He  was  the 


28  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

one  that  gave  me  help  in  the  first  steps  of  my  religious 
life  and  I  could  almost  write  a  book  about  him,  an  ap- 
preciative and  grateful  narrative  of  all  the  kindly, 
friendly  things  he  said  to  help  me  in  making  my  start. 


n 

DISCOVERING  THE  OTHER  WORLD 

IT  almost  brings  a  blush  to  my  cheek  to  undertake  to 
write  even  a  few  paragraphs  concerning  the  begin- 
nings of  my  religious  life.  It  is  a  matter  of  wonder 
to  me  that  my  childish  soul  was  transfixed  with  so  many 
serious  convictions.  My  mother  died  the  day  I  was  four 
years  old ;  my  father,  though  a  true  believer,  was  not  a 
member  of  any  church.  We  were  quite  a  distance  from 
the  church  which  it  was  our  custom  to  attend  ;  there  was 
preaching  only  once  a  month  and  as  I  had  no  way  of  go- 
ing except  on  my  two  small  feet  and  that  through  nearly 
two  miles  of  forest,  I  was  not  often  found  among  the 
worshippers.  True  they  had  the  bare  semblance  of  a 
Sunday-school  which  bloomed  with  the  April  flowers  and 
dissolved  usually  during  the  revival  meetings  of  August. 
About  all  we  did  in  the  school  was  to  fumble  and  balk 
and  stammer  through  some  of  the  long  chapters  of  the 
Bible,  our  teacher  doing  his  full  share  of  the  stammering. 
We  had  no  singing,  never  a  breezy  and  cheery  address, 
no  pictures,  only  one  or  two  unduly  protracted  prayers, 
a  dreary  waste  of  empty  benches  and  nothing  to  do  when 
it  was  over  except  to  retrace  our  steps  through  the  dense 
woodland  back  to  a  motherless  home. 

Not  altogether  motherless,  however.  The  youngest  of 
my  sisters  was  one  of  the  most  Christlike  of  young  women, 
a  woman  whose  words  were  few  but  meaningful.  In  spite 
of  the  absence  of  so  much  that  goes  to  make  up  a  home 
there  was  a  straightforward,  sensible  and  kindly  old 
father — fifty  years  older  than  I  was — a  few  good  books 

29 


80  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

and  almost  too  much  time  for  thinking.  Not  even  the 
blindest  admirer  could  have  found  anything  suggestive 
or  prophetic  in  my  youth  except  frequent  and  most 
pungent  religious  feelings.  Religious  habits  I  knew 
nothing  about  and  it  was  by  fits  and  changes  my  seasons 
of  religious  anxiety  came.  I  undertook  to  read  the  Bible 
as  soon  as  I  could  read  at  all,  but  had  nothing  except  the 
family  Bible — a  ponderous  and  unmanageable  load.  I 
started  with  Genesis  for  I  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  that  I 
could  start  anywhere  else,  and  about  the  only  well  articu- 
lated results  which  I  can  now  recall  were  the  many  crash- 
ing falls  the  Bible  had  from  slipping  through  my  feeble 
arms  and  from  my  repeated  readings  of  Genesis  until  the 
front  part  of  the  book  was  mutilated  and  I  also  slightly 
mutilated  for  not  treating  the  Holy  Book  with  more  care. 

Just  the  same  I  longed  to  know  the  way  but  there  was 
no  one  to  show  me.  My  yearnings  struggled  within  my 
bosom,  and  it  ran  on  until  I  had  gotten  into  my  early 
teens  and  yet  religion  was  something  longed  for  but  un- 
attained.  I  got  into  a  school  of  which  the  teacher  him- 
self was  anything  but  a  Christian,  and  in  which  many  of 
the  scholars  were  larger  and  older  than  myself,  and 
among  them  all  not  one  who  wore  the  Christian  name,  and 
a  few  of  them  were  very  irreligious  and  had  already 
learned  to  scoff  at  sacred  things. 

My  school  took  me  away  from  the  church  neighbor- 
hood, but  I  heard  that  there  was  a  great  revival  meeting 
in  progress  at  Mount  Hermon,  the  church  to  which  we 
usually  went.  The  news  put  a  strange  fluttering  in  my 
boyish  heart ;  I  felt  that  I  was  in  the  neighborhood  of 
divine  things.  All  the  ardors  of  my  religious  nature 
were  kindled  into  flame.  Day  after  day  as  I  went  to 
school  I  felt  a  pungent  sense  of  guilt,  and  in  a  lonely 
ravine  which  lay  near  my  path  I  turned  aside  and  found 
a  little  altar  between  the  crooked  roots  of  a  mighty  white 


DISCOVERING  THE  OTHER  WORLD      31 

oak,  and  there  going  and  coming  I  would  bow  down  and 
tell  the  Lord  of  my  troubles.  I  was  hearing  already  of 
the  conversion  of  other  boys — my  brother  Harvey  among 
them— and  I  was  sorely  afraid  that  I  would  be  left. 

Friday  night  came  and  I  sped  homeward  on  swiftest 
feet.  That  night  the  moon  was  friendly  and  broke  the 
darkness  of  the  great  forest,  and  with  no  sense  of  danger 
but  a  deepening  sense  of  penitence  I  went  through  that 
forest  marking  almost  every  step  with  a  cry  for  mercy. 
The  house  was  crowded  and  I  found  a  seat  far.  back  from 
the  pulpit.  I  saw  in  the  pulpit  two  men — one.  Elder 
William  Harris, — Father  Harris  the  young  people  called 
him,  with  his  hair  white  as  the  snow  and  falling  in  silken 
softness  around  his  shoulders,  with  a  face  tinged  with  an 
Indian  hue  and  cheek  bones  very  high,  with  an  eye  blue 
as  the  sky  and  radiant  with  a  light  not  of  this  world, 
with  a  voice  mellow,  musical  and  irresistible  when  he 
sang,  with  a  white  handkerchief  tie  around  his  neck  and 
a  spotless  collar.  His  coat  was  like  a  modern  cutaway, 
black  with  vast  flaps  over  the  side  pockets,  and  out  of 
one  of  the  pockets  protruded  a  clean  pipe-stem  that 
pushed  back  the  flap  and  lifted  its  unblushing  length  into 
full  view.  He  was  tall,  well  rounded,  the  very  figure 
and  form  and  glory  of  a  fine  old  man.  He  preached  in 
that  country  for  over  fifty  years  ;  fully  fifty  preachers 
came  into  service  under  his  influence  and  he  was  every- 
body's friend,  and  when  he  died  the  land  mourned  for 
him  and  mourns  for  him  yet. 

The  other  minister  was  a  collegian  and  an  orator — 
Francis  M.  Barker.  I  thoroughly  believe  that  he  could 
have  preached  to  ten  acres  of  people  and  could  have  been 
heard  by  all.  That  night  he  preached,  and  used  as  his 
t^xt,  ^^  Choose  ye  this  day  whom  ye  will  serve."  I  heard 
every  word  of  the  sermon  and  trembled  as  I  heard.  The 
trouble  was  I  was  not  fit  and  I  had  no  thought  that  mercy 


32  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

was  in  reach  uutil  I  was  good  euougli  to  claim  it.  I  was 
ready  to  make  the  choice  if  I  only  could  feel  that  I  was 
ready  to  appear  at  the  throne  of  grace  and  receive  salva- 
tion. In  those  days  they  had  the  mourners'  bench,  and 
surely  enough  I  was  a  fit  subject  for  the  bench,  but  a 
crushing  sense  of  uncertainty,  unfitness,  and  depression 
held  me  back.  I  was  not  ashamed  but  it  looked  as  if  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  go — not  for  me.  The  people  were 
singing  and  the  crowd  was  standing  up,  but  I  sat  still 
and  hardly  knew  what  I  did. 

At  last  a  venerable  gentleman  walked  down  the  aisle 
— I  knew  him  well ;  it  was  old  Dr.  Falls,  a  deacon  in 
the  church,  and  truly  the  church  had  no  more  ardent 
lover,  and  to  my  surprise  he  stor)ped  at  me,  he  stooped 
down  so  that  others  could  not  hear,  and  I  liked  him  bet- 
ter for  that,  and  in  a  low  voice  said  to  me,  ''Did  you 
hear  the  call  to-night  ? '' 

"  I  heard  it,"  I  said,  ''  and  felt  that  I  ought  to  answer 
it  but  I  could  not  start ;  something  is  holding  me  back." 
He  stretched  out  to  me  his  wrinkled  old  hand  and  said  in 
a  tone  wondrously  assuring,  "Maybe  that  might  help 
you  to  start."  There  was  his  hand,  stretched  out  to  me 
and  wide  open  and  he  was  waiting.  That  made  a  differ- 
ence and  I  put  my  hand  in  his  and  I  got  strength  by  his 
touch  and  was  lifted  to  my  feet  by  its  grasp. 

But  this  must  be  too  common  for  any  one  to  read,  and 
yet  it  has  worlds  of  meaning  to  me.  That  moment  I 
took  my  first  step,  I  put  my  back  towards  the  world,  I 
planted  my  feet  on  the  Zion  road. 

And  yet  when  I  got  to  the  front  seat  I  was  awkward, 
self-conscious,  tearless,  distracted,  and  knew  not  what  to 
do.  The  meeting  closed  and  I  went  home  and  seemed  no 
better  than  before.  I  went  back  to  the  Saturday  meeting 
and  the  dear  old  doctor,  living  near  the  church,  made  me 
go  home  with  him  to  supper  and  showed  me  a  kindness 


DISCOVERING  THE  OTHER  WORLD      33 

in  the  gentlest  sort  of  way  which  made  me  believe  in 
heaven.  The  house  was  full  of  company  but  its  joy  and 
laughter  suited  me  not,  and  ahead  of  all  the  others  I 
started  alone  for  the  church,  sad  enough  but  thankful 
that  I  could  be  alone. 

It  was  an  August  night  and  the  moon  was  near  its  full 
and  my  walk  was  across  a  field.  Anxious  about  religion 
I  surely  was  and  yet  hard-hearted,  clumsy  and  utterly 
bewildered.  I  was  waiting  for  a  whirlwind  to  catch  me 
in  its  embrace,  and  in  some  unscheduled  way  to  drop  me 
into  the  kingdom  of  God.  As  I  made  my  way  towards 
the  church  I  heard  a  step  behind  me.  I  glanced  back 
and  recognized  a  man  who  had  been  one  of  the  most 
reckless  and  blasphemous  men  in  that  country,  but  who 
not  long  before,  after  an  experience  much  talked  about  in 
the  neighborhood,  had  united  with  the  church.  His 
name  was  Monroe  Hatcher.  He  walked  up  in  a  rough  but 
kindly  way  and  said  that  he  was  glad  to  see  that  I  had 
started  out  to  be  a  Christian.  In  bungling  fashion  I  told 
him  I  would  like  to  be  a  Christian  but  that  it  was  a  thing 
that  I  did  not  understand  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

*'What  do  you  think  of  yourself  as  you  stand  in  the 
sight  of  God?  '^  he  asked  me.  The  question  confused  me  ; 
I  knew  well  enough  what  I  was  in  the  sight  of  God,  but 
I  had  it  in  me  that  no  one  could  be  saved  as  long  as  he 
was  a  sinner.  I  felt  that  if  I  told  the  man  how  sinful  I 
knew  myself  to  be  he  would  be  ready  to  give  my  case  up, 
but  it  was  no  time  for  quibbling  and  I  blurted  out  the 
truth.  I  told  him  with  an  anxiety  not  unmixed  with 
despair  that  I  was  much  distressed  to  find  that  I  was  so 
unworthy  of  the  mercy  of  God,  for  I  felt  that  I  was  very 
sinful  before  the  Lord.  '^  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so," 
was  his  blunt  and  startling  reply.  For  a  moment  he 
shocked  me  by  seeming  to  be  pleased  by  a  confession 
which  it  was  most  painful  for  me  to  make,  and  I  told 


34  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

him  so.  ^'But,"  lie  said,  ''do  not  think  that  I  am  glad 
you  are  a  sinner.  That  I  knew  before.  But  I  am  glad 
that  you  have  found  it  out."  Then  in  terse  phrase  he 
told  me  that  Jesus  was  not  the  Saviour  of  good  people, 
but  of  sinners,  and  only  of  those  sinners  who  know  their 
condition  and  were  ready  to  make  confession.  This  put 
the  matter  in  a  new  light.  It  seems  strange  that  I  could 
have  been  so  stupid  that  I  did  not  see  it  that  way  before. 
I  walked  along  quickened  in  every  power  of  my  mind 
and  soul,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  saw  Jesus  as 
the  Saviour  and  myself  as  the  sinner  brought  together. 
I  am  sure  that  I  had  never  heard  that  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  logic  in  the  world,  and  yet  in  my  rude  way  I 
knocked  up  a  little  syllogism  of  my  own  which  ran  about 
thus:  "Jesus  Christ  is  the  Saviour  of  sinners;  I  am  a 
sinner,  and  therefore  I  know  He  will  save  me."  These 
truths  struck  me  with  a  new  pleasure  and  a  ray  of  light 
flickered  through  the  darkness  of  my  heart. 

By  this  time  we  had  passed  a  gate  into  the  public  road 
and  were  neariDg  the  church. 

''Do  you  know  what  to  do  to  get  Christ  to  save  you ? " 
inquired  this  plain  but  godly  young  farmer.  I  told  him 
with  unblushing  candor  that  I  had  no  idea  what  I  ought 
to  do.  "You  must  have  faith,"  he  said.  I  told  him 
that  I  had  heard  much  about  faith  and  about  believing, 
but  that  somehow  the  words  did  not  seem  to  bring  me 
any  light.  I  remember  that  I  spoke  with  almost  a  de- 
spondent gloom,  as  if  the  whole  thing  was  beyond  me. 
My  friend  stopped  abruptly  in  the  road  and  told  me  to 
stop  ;  pointing  upward,  he  called  my  attention  to  a  long, 
immense  limb  of  a  mountain  oak  which  stretched  across 
the  road  far  above  my  head  and  he  told  me  to  look  at 
that  limb. 

"Suppose,"  he  said  to  me,  "you  were  up  on  that  limb  ; 
yon  would  be  afraid  to  leap  off,  would  you  not  1 "     I  told 


DISCOVERING  THE  OTHER  WORLD      35 

him  very  emphatically  that  I  would,  and  probably  added 
that  I  would  not  think  for  a  moment  of  doing  such  a 
thing. 

^*Look  up  there  again, '^  he  said.  ''Suppose  you  were 
up  there  and  I  was  to  call  you  by  name  and  tell  you  that 
if  you  would  jump  off  I  would  catch  you  and  not  let  you 
be  hurt,  would  you  do  it  ?  '^ 

^'ISTo,  sir,"  I  said,  rather  doggedly,  I  fear  j  **  I  would 
not  think  of  doing  it.'^ 

"But,"  he  asked,  "if  I  told  you  outright  that  I  would 
catch  you  as  you  fell,  why  would  you  not  leap  off  ?  " 

"Why,  because,"  I  said,  a  little  afraid  that  I  had 
wounded  him,  "why,  because  I  cannot  believe  that  you 
would  have  the  power  to  catch  me,  or  that  you  would 
even  dare  to  try  to  catch  me."  I  wondered  how  he 
would  receive  my  emphatic  reply. 

"Why,  that  is  it,"  he  said ;  "you  would  not  leap  off 
because  you  would  not  believe  that  I  could  catch  you,  or 
that  I  would  dare  to  try  it ;  that  would  be  unbelief." 

"Is  that  unbelief?"  I  asked,  with  an  unaffected  sur- 
prise. "  Is  that  all?  "  and  my  new  tone  evidently  stirred 
his  hope.  "Yes,  that  is  all,"  he  said  very  hopeful. 
"That  is  unbelief,  and  it  is  that  unbelief  of  our  God 
which  keeps  His  blessings  back."  At  that  moment  I  felt 
the  guilt  of  not  believing  as  I  had  not  felt  it  before.  I 
started  forward,  but  he  halted  me. 

"Look  up  at  that  limb  again,"  he  said.  "Suppose 
you  were  up  there ;  look  up  at  it  and  suppose  that  Jesus 
Christ  was  down  here  in  the  road  where  we  are  and  you 
knew  that  it  was  He  and  He  should  stretch  out  His  arms 
and  look  up  and  call  you  by  name  and  bid  you  leap  into 
His  arms,  would  you  do  it?  " 

I  did  not  make  quick  reply.  I  thought  the  matter 
through  and  sounded  the  depths  of  my  heart,  and  there 
arose  in  my  soul  a  clear  and  gladsome  conviction  that  I 


36  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

would  not  be  afraid  to  make  the  leap.  I  remember  that 
I  felt  distinctly  the  wish  that  I  could  in  that  way  attest 
my  faith  in  the  word  and  the  power  of  Jesus.  Turning 
to  my  good  instructor  I  said  to  him,  ^' Yes,  sir,  I  could, 
and  I  gladly  would. '^     *^  Why,"  he  said,  ^*  would  you?  " 

''Because,"  I  answered,  "if  He  said  He  would  catch 
me  He  would  do  what  He  said,  and  if  He  tried  to  catch 
me  He  is  able  to  do  what  He  tries." 

''Why,  boy,"  he  replied  in  joyous  strain,  ''that  is 
faith  in  the  Son  of  God."  Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me 
that  faith  was  taking  the  Lord  at  His  word  about  my 
soul,  just  as  taking  Him  at  His  word  about  my  body 
would  be. 

We  started  on.  The  only  question  that  I  asked  before 
we  reached  the  door  of  the  church  was,  ' '  May  I  under- 
stand that  if  I  move  out  just  as  I  am,  not  waiting  for  any 
sort  of  change,  but  simjily  committing  myself  into  the 
hands  of  Jesus  Christ,  will  He  save  me  ?  " 

"He  says  so,"  said  the  man.  Then  we  were  at  the 
church  door  and  he  told  me  to  go  in  and  he  fell  back  and 
walked  off.  That  night  marked  my  entrance  through  the 
gate  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  I  entered  the  church,  an 
old  quadrangular  frame  house — sealed  and  unpainted  and 
unlighted  except  by  a  few  flickering  tallow  candles  hang- 
ing on  the  wall,  and  as  yet  with  only  a  few  people  in  the 
house.  I  sat  down  near  to  the  pulpit,  more  than  willing 
to  be  as  near  as  possible  to  the  children  of  light  who 
already  were  fast  coming  in.  I  looked  not  at  them ;  I 
had  made  progress  and  found  myself  face  to  face  with  the 
Saviour.  He  was  at  hand  and  was  ready  for  me  to  come. 
I  said  with  the  dogmatism  of  a  boy's  faith,  "I  will  give 
myself  to  Him  ;  I  will  do  it  to-night ;  I  will  do  it  before 
I  go  out  of  this  house  ;  I  will  do  it  if  I  have  to  stay  all 
night  in  this  house  in  the  dark  and  by  myself  and  I  will 
do  it  now."     I  did  it  there  and  then,  did  it  actually  and 


DISCOVERING  THE  OTHER  WORLD      37 

did  it  ouce  for  all ;  did  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  has  never 
come  undone  ;  did  it  once  and  forever. 

As  to  what  the  effect  of  it  would  be  I  never  thought 
and  strangely  enough  did  not  seem  to  care  j  the  sense  of 
the  transfer  was  distinct  and  satisfactory.  I  had  passed 
over  into  the  hands  of  my  Saviour  by  my  own  glad  choice 
and  I  had  His  word  that  it  would  be  all  right  and  I  sat 
still  before  God  and  felt  that  I  was  in  a  new  world. 
Presently  the  singing  commenced  and  there  had  never 
been  quite  such  singing  before  ;  the  church  filled  up  with 
people  that  I  had  knovf  n  from  my  earliest  years,  but  I 
must  candidly  say  that  they  had  a  better  look  and  I  had  a 
better  feeliug  for  them  than  ever  before.  There  was  no 
impulsive  outbreak,  no  lack  of  self-mastery  ;  indeed  I 
had  never  known  such  a  peaceful  and  wondrous  sense  of 
self-mastery  before.  Immediately  I  looked  around  and 
about  me  and  saw  afresh  the  old  doctor  who  had  given 
me  the  hand  and  truly  I  felt  that  I  could  kiss  his  feet 
with  grateful  joy ;  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  old  Father 
Harris,  and  if  I  had  not  been  such  an  awkward  and  bash- 
ful lad  I  should  have  hugged  his  knees,  and  over  among 
the  singers  I  saw  my  grown-up  brother,  my  double 
brother  though  they  told  me  he  was  a  half  brother,  and 
the  sight  of  him  was  simply  irresistible.  The  sermon 
was  over  now  and  they  were  singing  and  I  got  up  and 
slipped  through  the  tangled  throng  and  went  over  and 
found  just  a  little  space  between  my  brother  and  his  next 
neighbor.  I  squeezed  in,  put  my  hand  up  on  his  tall 
shoulder  and  said,  "Brother  Henry,  I  have  some  good 
news  for  you  ;  I  can  trust  in  the  Saviour."  He  said  not 
a  word  but  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes  and  his  great  arm 
squeezed  me  to  him  until  I  felt  I  should  die  with  the  joy 
of  it. 

After  the  meeting  he  and  I  walked  back  through  the 
forest  and  there  was  a  light  shining  in  the  forest  fairer  and 


38  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

softer  tlian  the  silver  radiance  of  tlie  moon.  When  we 
reached  home  my  father  was  in  bed  and  my  brother 
knocked  at  the  door  and  went  in  and  I  heard  him  say, 
''Father,  great  news  to-night,  great  news j  your  baby 
boy  came  into  the  kingdom  of  God.'^ 


Ill 

SELF-DISCOVERY 

AVAST  mist  of  confusion  hangs  around  what  is 
usually  spoken  of  as  a  ministerial  call.  There 
are  some  who  make  it  an  absolutely  spiritual 
affair — a  thing  which  God  does  directly  and  authorita- 
tively. Others,  differing  from  this  view,  see  nothing  in 
the  conviction  whljh  puts  a  man  into  the  ministry  ex- 
cept what  can  be  accounted  for  with  the  divine  element 
left  out.  This  is  one  more  case  in  which  the  truth  lies 
about  midway  between  the  extremes.  It  would  rob  the 
ministry  of  much  of  its  dignity  and  about  all  of  its 
authority  to  eliminate  from  it  the  voice  of  God.  They 
who  preach  from  preference  or  other  supposed  adaptation 
or  for  more  human  reasons  can  never  speak  with  highest 
authority.  .  They  are  likely  enough  in  the  long  run  to  be 
played  upon  by  other  personal  influences  which  may  lift 
them  out  of  the  ministry  and  send  them  into  pursuit  of 
things  more  clearly  in  sight  and  more  convincingly 
tangible. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  those  who  are  led  to  believe 
that  the  ministerial  call  is  the  living  voice  of  God,  that 
it  must  come  with  an  overmastering  voice  or  as  an  en- 
trancing vision,  looking  in  vain  for  what  they  think  they 
must  have  or  else  stubbornly  refusing  the  ministry.  I 
heard  the  matter  of  a  ministerial  call  set  forth  in  a  most 
dogmatic  way  and  for  several  years  I  listened  day  and 
night  to  hear  the  peremptory  and  overwhelming  summons 
from  heaven  to  preach  the  Gospel.  Of  course  I  listened 
in  vain. 
Many  influences,  however,  were  continually  playing 

39 


40  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

upon  me.  There  were  ministers  who  came  into  touch 
with  me  who  gave  me  stirring  impressions  as  to  the 
preacher's  life.  They  had  a  clean,  manly,  courtly 
bearing ;  their  excellencies,  their  dignity,  called  forth 
my  reverence  and  affection  and  their  earnestness  and  elo- 
quence moved  me  most  powerfully.  They  had  a  noble 
indifference  about  certain  things  that  charmed  me.  They 
opened  up  to  me  a  life  that  built  up  fine  men  and  fur- 
nished excellent  motives.  I  do  not  recall  a  single  word 
spoken  to  me  by  ministers  about  preaching  the  Gospel 
except  by  the  venerable  and  saintly  William  Harris,  and 
that  was  when  I  was  very  small.  He  was  spending  the 
night  in  our  home,  and  the  next  morning,  as  he  was  led 
from  the  parlor  through  my  father's  chamber  on  his 
way  to  breakfast,  he  found  me  sitting  at  a  window  read- 
ing and  he  swung  out  of  his  course,  touched  my  head 
with  his  fingers  and  expressed  the  hope  that  God  would 
call  me  to  preach  the  Gospel.  After  all,  it  is  just  possible 
that  that  single  utterance,  so  mellow  and  gracious,  from 
that  extraordinary  preacher-maker  might  have  been  the 
call  of  God  which  settled  the  question  at  the  last.  I 
think,  too,  of  that  old  doctor  who  had  the  hand  which  he 
stretched  out  to  me  with  offered  help  when  I  took  my  first 
step  towards  religion.  He  had  a  courteous  kindness 
towards  me.  He  always  greeted  me  when  I  came  near 
him  according  me  a  certain  attention  and  respect  to  which 
I  was  unaccustomed  and  several  times  he  would  drop  a 
word  about  the  ministry,  all  of  which  had  a  direct  influ- 
ence which  I  never  lost. 

It  came  out  in  the  talk  of  the  family,  also,  that  my 
mother,  who  died  rather  suddenly,  spent  much  of  her 
dying  breath  in  praying  that  my  brother  Harvey  and 
myself  should  be  ministers.  All  these  things  in  connec- 
tion with  my  reading  and  my  thought  were  so  many 
heavenly  winds  that  seemed  to  bear  me  onward  and  up- 


SELF-DISCOVERY  41 

ward  towards  the  work  which  I  could  not  see,  but  which 
it  was  always  settled  that  I  was  to  do.  There  came  also 
quite  a  revival  in  our  community — not  in  the  usual  shape 
of  a  protracted  meeting,  but  expressing  itself  in  neigh- 
borhood prayer-meetings,  unusual  services  at  'the  church, 
conversions  here  and  there  and  much  godly  talk  among 
the  best  Christians  of  the  neighborhood.  Into  that 
courageous  little  movement  I  was  brought.  They  called 
upon  me  to  lead  in  prayer  and  I  had  a  word  or  two  with 
some  of  the  boys  who  were  in  the  church  about  our 
spiritual  condition  and  what  overmastered  me  with  grate- 
ful wonder,  I  led  a  young  man  to  the  Saviour.  Oh,  those 
days  of  unworldly  joy  !  The  light  of  the  Christian  world 
shone  round  me  with  ineffable  beauty. 

To  be  candid  about  the  matter,  the  greatest  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  my  entering  the  ministry  was  my  irrepressible 
eagerness  to  do  so.  My  soul  cried  out  for  the  ministry  ; 
indeed,  I  quite  lost  patience  with  myself.  It  seemed 
preposterous,  for  such  a  one  as  I  knew  myself  to  be  to 
have  such  a  restless  longing.  I  called  it  a  carnal  motive 
and  branded  it  as  a  disqualification.  I  put  it  aside  and 
set  myself  down  to  wait  the  coercive  call  of  God.  I  hung 
up  at  this  point  for  two  or  three  years.  Kot  entirely  on 
this  account  but  because  I  was  so  absolutely  hedged  in  ; 
I  could  not  have  undertaken  to  preach  as  I  was  then  and 
there  seemed  to  be  no  human  outlook  for  my  preparation 
for  the  ministry.  My  father  was  much  limited  in  his 
means  and  yet  more  limited  in  his  views  of  higher 
education  and  so  for  myself  poverty  was  my  meat  and 
drink.  I  do  not  know  that  I  had  as  much  as  one  dollar 
for  my  own  up  to  the  time  when  I  was  seventeen  years 
of  age,  and  when  a  little  after  that  I  went  out  to  teach,  it 
was  little  that  I  made  and  less  that  I  spent. 

When  I  was  nineteen  years  of  age  I  went  beyond  the 
big  mountains  to  teach  school.     I  made  an  engagement 


42  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

for  a  solid  session  of  twelve  months,  for  a  consideration 
of  three  hundred  dollars  and  my  board  for  the  year.  It 
was  truly  into  an  ill-sorted  family  that  my  lot  was  cast. 
A  beautiful  and  capable  woman  had  married  in  her  early 
youth  and  had  a  noble  husband  and  a  magnificent  home. 
Later  on  she  was  made  a  widow  by  the  untimely  death 
of  her  good  man  and  left  with  five  children, — orderly, 
sensible,  lovely  children.  There  came  along  a  widower, 
colossal  of  frame,  a  murderer  of  grammar,  an  incarnation 
of  bad  manners,  a  fortune  hunter,  and  one  of  those  in- 
explicable infatuations,  which  sometimes  overtake  the 
noblest  of  women,  brought  on  an  ill-fated  marriage.  I 
ought  to  add  that  the  uncouth  widower,  later  on  the 
husband,  imported  his  domestic  stock  in  the  shape  of 
three  as  incorrigible  youngsters  as  could  be  found  on  any 
road  and  added  them  to  the  newly  made  family.  A  few 
weeks  after  that  alliance,  I  went  into  that  family  as  a 
teacher.  A  few  outside  children  were  added  to  my  con- 
stituency and  I  started  in  to  do  my  twelve  months'  work. 
That  woman,  so  fatefully  allied  with  this  man  and  so  soon 
awakened  to  the  incompatibilities  of  the  situation,  was  at 
once  a  diplomat  and  a  martyr  in  my  eyes.  A  queen  in 
form  and  bearing,  she  adroitly  covered  the  rigors  and 
coarseness  of  her  spouse  and  filled  the  home  with  a 
warmth  and  light  that  almost  brought  unity  and  safety 
there.  I  think  of  her  always  with  a  reverence  and  an 
admiration  in  no  degree  diminished  by  the  blunder  of 
her  infatuation. 

Things  moved  along  without  change  from  December 
till  July  and  I  fell  somewhat  seriously  ill.  I  was  ordered 
to  the  Springs— rather  an  inaccessible  place  in  the  moun- 
tains not  far  off,  and  I  was  kept  there  for  several  weeks. 
One  day  I  was  sitting  in  a  little  park  about  the  Springs 
and  a  gentleman  and  his  wife  from  Eichmond,  Ya.,  came 
over  and  sat  down  by  me  and  we  entered  into  conversa- 


SELF-DISCOVERY  43 

tion.  A  choice  pair  tliey  proved  to  be,  beneficent,  large- 
souled — and  by  some  means  they  induced  me  to  confess 
my  secret  hope  as  to  the  Christian  ministry.  They  talked 
with  sympathetic  enthusiasm  and  when  I  told  them  of 
my  hopeless  limitations  it  only  whetted  their  interest. 
They  made  haste  to  tell  me  of  Richmond  College,  but 
lately  established,  by  my  own  denomination  of  which  they 
were  members,  and  they  told  me  of  the  exceedingly 
moderate  terms  and  certain  help  vouchsafed  to  min- 
isterial students,  and  advised  me  to  write  to  the  president 
of  the  college.  All  this  I  did  with  misgivings,  for  my 
heart  beat  when  I  thought  of  the  audacity  of  what  I  was 
doing. 

In  a  few  days  I  returned  to  my  school  which  now  be- 
came an  element  in  my  way,  as  I  was  committed  for  five 
months  of  additional  work.  IsTothing  came  from  the 
president  of  the  college  and  I  fell  into  the  humdrum  of 
my  little  school.  Quickly  enough  I  discovered  that  total 
depravity  was  a  growing  feature  in  the  incorrigible  three 
and  by  vast  leaps  and  jumps  in  number  one  of  that  three. 
He  was  about  fourteen  years  of  age  and  had  about  him 
some  of  the  colossal  symptoms  of  his  father.  I  took  him 
apart  and  delivered  a  sage  and  admonitory  lecture  and 
closed  by  a  distinct  promise  of  the  rod  if  he  leaped  the 
boundaries  any  more.  In  a  little  while  his  transgres- 
sions, bald,  open,  and  daring,  faced  me.  I  had  already 
provided  myself  with  a  gum  switch  of  rather  formidable 
dimensions,  and  candor  compels  me  to  say  that  the 
dust  and  lint  bore  ample  testimony  to  the  energy  of  my 
performance.  That  evening  I  returned  to  the  house  of 
the  discordant  elements  and  went  up  to  my  room. 
Presently  I  heard  thundering  steps  on  the  stairway  and 
^y  gigantic  proprietor  lunged  into  my  room.  He  was 
panting  with  rage  and  breathing  threats  of  the  direst 
sort.     He  burst  into  venomous  speech — confused,  broken 


44  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

and  furious,  with  the  vengeful  inquiry  as  to  why  I  had 
punished  his  boy,  also  indicating  that  he  would  probably 
drop  me  out  at  the  window.  I  confess  that  my  life  was 
not  at  its  best  at  that  moment  for  I  felt  as  helpless  as  if  a 
cyclone  had  struck  the  house  and  was  about  to  crush  it 
into  ruins.  I  did  manage  to  tell  him  that  I  had  chastised 
his  boy  only  after  long  provocation  and  as  a  last  hope  of 
managing  him.  After  saying  that  much  I  found  my 
speech  fully  come  back  to  me  and  I  told  him  that  I 
judged  from  his  mood  that  he  was  not  willing  for  me  to 
use  such  methods  as  I  deemed  necessary  in  oider  to  pre- 
serve the  order  of  the  school,  and  that  if  such  was  the 
case,  it  would  be  better  for  me  not  to  continue  the  school. 
I  had  already  taught  seven  months  and  I  had  not  received 
one  cent  of  compensation.  I  suggested  that  he  settle 
with  me  and  that  the  school  close  at  once.  I  told  him 
that  I  would  not  trouble  him  with  entertainment  over 
night.  I  packed  my  trunk  and  went  to  his  wife's  sister's, 
where  I  was  most  hospitably  entertained.  The  next 
morning  he  sent  me  more  money  than  I  had  ever  had  in 
all  my  life  at  one  time,  and  putting  it  with  a  little  that  I 
already  had,  I  saw  the  college  looming  up  for  the  first 
time  in  possible  reach.  I  passed  the  post-ofiice  next  day 
on  my  way  to  the  train  and  found  a  letter  from  the 
president  of  the  college  and  he  told  me  to  come  on.  I 
crossed  the  great  mountains,  returning  to  my  native 
Bedford,  and  almost  the  first  thing  that  I  heard  upon  my 
arrival  was  that  my  brother  had  also  determined  to  enter 
the  ministry.  In  the  smallest  while  it  was  decided  that 
he  and  I  divide  my  little  pile  and  go  to  college  together 
— undoubtedly  the  happiest  incident  that  up  to  that  time 
had  ever  occurred  in  my  life. 

This  is  the  way  it  happened.  Since  it  became  possible 
for  me  to  get  ready  to  preach  I  found  myself  filled  with  a 
conviction  of  my  duty  to  preach  so  powerful  and  so^over- 


SELF-DISCOVERY  45 

masteriug  and  so  adequate  that  I  have  never  for  one 
moment  since  that  time  doubted  that  I  was  called  to 
preach  the  Gospel.  At  all  times  I  have  felt  insufficient  and 
unfit  and  all  unworthy.  The  outcome  of  my  ministry  has 
always  been  unsatisfactory,  and  yet  so  much  richer  than 
I  ever  dreamed  beforehand  that  it  could  be  that  I  have 
filled  the  way  with  my  grateful  songs.  These  words  are 
written  when  I  have  almost  attained  the  end  of  my 
seventy-fifth  year  when  I  might,  possibly  without  in- 
fringing the  truth,  say  that  I  could  not  find  many  regrets 
in  quitting  this  world  except  the  unutterable  regret  of 
having  to  end  my  task  on  earth  as  the  servant  of  the 
greatest  Master  whose  goodness  and  mercy  have  followed 
me  all  the  days  of  my  life. 

It  may  be  well  for  me  to  add  two  or  three  incidents 
connected  with  my  ministry.  In  the  course  of  years  I 
became  the  pastor  of  the  Grace  Street  Baptist  Church  of 
Eichmond,  Ya.,  and  on  a  certain  occasion  it  became 
necessary  for  me  to  make  an  appeal  for  money  to  assist 
my  alma  mater  in  caring  for  the  indigent  ministerial  stu- 
dents. This  led  me  to  preach  on  the  Drama  of  the  Axe, 
taking  for  my  subject  ''The  Building  of  Elisha's  The- 
ological Seminary  "  ;  in  which  one  of  the  students  worked 
with  a  borrowed  axe  and  worked  with  such  energy  at  his 
task  that  the  axe  flew  its  helve  and  sank  into  the  bottom 
of  the  river.  I  spoke  of  the  fellow's  determination  to 
cleave  his  way  ;  of  the  kindness  of  his  teacher  to  whom  he 
went  in  his  distress,  and  of  the  divine  interposition  by 
which  he  recovered  the  axe.  Then  I  told  of  the  sick 
young  man  who  went  to  the  Springs,  of  the  noble  Chris- 
tian gentleman  and  lady  who  stole  his  secret  and  helped 
him  to  go  to  college,  and  finally  closed  by  saying  to  the 
church,  "It  may  be  worth  something  for  you  to  know 
that  that  man  and  woman  who  engaged  in  conversation 
with  that  young  man  were  members  of  this  church,  and 


46  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

that  the  youDg  man  whom  they  helped  is  standing  before 
you  in  the  person  of  your  pastor,  and  comes  to  plead  that 
you  will  help  in  the  good  work  of  aiding  those  young 
men  whom  God  has  called  into  the  ministry."  I  cannot 
say  that  this  second  personal  fact  that  I  mentioned  had 
anything  to  do  with  it,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  remember 
that  when  we  counted  up  the  collection  we  had  quite 
eclipsed  all  the  offerings  the  church  had  ever  made  to 
ministerial  education. 

For  twenty-six  years  I  was  president  of  the  Educa- 
tional Society  which  looked  after  ministerial  students  in 
Eichmond  College.  With  few  exceptions  I  corresponded 
with  these  boys  and  interviewed  many  cases  personally 
before  they  reached  the  college,  and  it  was  my  official 
duty  to  handle  the  personal  examination  to  which  they 
were  subjected  before  they  were  admitted  to  the  benefits 
of  the  Education  Board.  The  most  eminent  member  of 
that  Board  kept  up  with  all  of  those  ministerial  students 
after  they  left  college,  he  himself  being  a  college  presi- 
dent, and  his  testimony  was  that  nineteen-twentieths  of 
these  young  men  entered  the  active  work  of  the  ministry, 
and  that  those  who  received  temporary  help  and  after- 
wards entered  other  professions,  returned  the  money, 
which  had  been  expended  in  their  behalf.  One  of  the 
largest  joys  of  my  life  was  to  be  the  pastor  and  private  coun- 
sellor of  these  youDg  men.  There  were  hundreds  of  them. 
I  found  that  in  the  majority  of  cases  the  young  men  did 
not  have  a  natural  or  definite  religious  preference  for  the 
ministry  but  felt  such  a  pressure  of  duty  that  they  were 
constrained  to  preach,  but  this  fact  in  no  degree  dimin- 
ished their  ardor  or  crippled  their  power.  I  was  struck 
with  the  vast  diversities,  tastes,  and  adaptabilities  mani- 
fested in  this  great  body  of  men.  The  living  miracle  of 
Christianity  is  what  we  sometimes  call  the  self-perpetu- 
ating power  of  the  ministry. 


IV 

TRAINING  FOR  ACTION 

FOUE  years  in  college  was  all  the  experience  that  I 
had  in  winning  the  higher  education.  True  it 
was,  I  had  the  exceeding  good  fortune  to  get  into 
what  was  called,  in  ante-bellum  times,  a  choice  clas- 
sical school  and  remained  in  it  for  three  years.  That 
set  me  forward  in  all  branches  of  study  except  mathe- 
matics. Unluckily  the  teacher  was  feeble  in  mathematics 
— a  distinct  consolation  to  me,  for  from  my  cradle  I  ab- 
horred numbers  from  the  multiplication  table  up,  and  the 
incompetency  of  that  teacher  in  a  way  legalized  my  stu- 
pidity and  confirmed  it. 

My  brother  was  older  than  myself  and  great  on  math- 
ematics. I  discovered  with  grudging  and  resentment  that 
he  had  much  more  gumption  in  that  respect  than  I  had, 
and  what  irritated  me  still  more  about  it  was  that  he  had 
a  scorn  almost  as  heartless  and  frigid  as  mathematics 
itself  for  my  incapacity.  I  failed  egregiously  in  my 
third  year  and  my  brother  said  things  to  me  about  it  that 
brought  me  to  a  white  heat,  and  I  told  him  that  the  next 
year,  merely  to  show  my  contempt  for  mathematics  and 
for  those  who  liked  it,  I  intended  to  whip  him  on  his  own 
field.  This  is  exactly  what  I  did  but  was  too  proud  to  be 
vain  about  it,  and  my  triumph  was  sensibly  abated  by 
the  fact  that  my  brother  had  an  overwhelming  ticket  and 
I  had  very  little  to  do.  It  did  the  unsanctified  portions 
of  my  being,  which  included  about  everything  there  was 
of  me,  a  world  of  good  that  I  had  downed  him.  But  I 
studied  my  very  best  to  look  as  if  it  was  a  thing  which 

47 


48  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

might  happen  auy  time,  and  had  to  come  from  the  very 
necessities  of  the  case,  but  I  was  exceedingly  secretive  as 
to  the  fact  that  I  had  used  up  all  my  reservation  of  vital- 
ity in  the  struggle. 

My  brother  and  I  were  not  very  closely  akin.  We  be- 
longed unmistakably  to  different  families ;  he  was  a 
Hatcher,  from  back  in  the  primitive  days  of  Careby  in 
England  ;  I  had  taken  my  little  heritage  and  outfit  from 
the  Lathams.  I  naturally  liked  what  he  did  not  like,  and 
he  looked  down  upon  me  from  an  extra  three  inches  in 
altitude  with  a  haughtiness  that  smacked  of  contempt. 
He  was  a  sport ;  his  temperament,  his  physical  make-up 
and  his  habits  sent  him  afield.  A  horse  was  his  glory,  a 
dog  was  his  companion,  a  gun  was  the  triumph  of  all 
mechanism  in  his  sight ;  game,  from  the  deer  to  the  quail, 
commanded  his  tireless  pursuit.  In  fact,  I  had  frankly 
to  admit  that  he  could  kill  more  game  with  rocks  than  I 
could  possibly  kill  with  a  double-barrelled  gun.  The 
chase  set  him  wild  ;  the  cry  of  the  pack,  no  matter  whose 
it  was,  broke  him  from  everything  else  and  he  would  fol- 
low the  dogs  through  the  day  and  far  into  the  dead  of 
the  night.  During  one  of  our  vacations  he  had  some 
soreness  about  his  feet  and  his  physician  had  ordered 
him  into  retirement  and  required  him  to  leave  off  his 
shoes.  One  day  while  scantily  dressed,  and  his  feet 
entirely  uncovered,  there  came  in  sight  a  fox,  hard- 
pressed  by  the  hounds.  When  my  brother  came  to  him- 
self he  was  four  miles  from  home,  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  fashionable  and  aristocratic  part  of  our  larger  com- 
munity, without  collar  or  vest  and  with  his  feet  bare  of 
everything  else  except  cuts  and  wounds,  and  blood  and 
dirt.  And  he  declared  that  it  looked  as  if  that  fox 
selected  that  place  to  surrender  in  order  that  the  very 
pride  and  pick  of  the  country  should  see  him  in  his 
unpardonable  plight.     But  little  he  cared.     Had  he  not 


TKAINING  FOR  ACTION  4d 

had  a  full  hour  of  enchanting  sport  ?  Had  he  not  scaled 
mountains,  plunged  through  rivers  and  been  about  the 
first  man  at  the  finish  ?  As  for  myself,  I  grieve  now  that 
I  hated  dogs  so  thoroughly  and  hated  them  for  my 
brother's  sake.  I  never  came  to  the  point  of  hating  him, 
but  I  hold  him  responsible  for  the  bulk  of  my  boyish 
unhappiness.  He  was  my  only  companion,  and  it  was  a 
choice  between  solitude  at  home  and  fatigue,  scratches, 
torn  clothes,  burdens  of  game  and  ill -humor  and  my 
brother.  In  fact,  he  was  the  bigger  of  the  two  and  I  had 
to  go,  though  I  kept  him  as  sorry  that  I  did  go  as  my 
contrary  grumbles  and  antagonisms  made  possible.  After 
all,  our  chief  point  of  identity  seemed  to  be  our  temper- 
amental difference.  I  know  that  he  was  interesting  to  me 
as  a  natural  curiosity ;  my  wonder  never  ceased  that  a 
boy  could  be  so  unlike  what  I  thought  a  boy  ought  to  be. 
It  somewhat  justifies  these  criticisms  for  me  to  say  that 
the  members  of  the  family  largely  supported  me  in  my 
contentions  with  my  brother.  They  always  said  that  I 
was  the  better  boy,  but  it  nettled  me  unutterably  to  note 
their  superior  respect  for  him.  He  always  did  a  thing, 
no  matter  what  the  thing,  in  a  stunning  sort  of  way. 
Even  his  conversion  was  exceedingly  eccentric  and  mys- 
sterious.  There  was  a  meeting  in  progress  at  a  Meth- 
odist church  miles  away,  and  he  walked  out  and  defiantly 
announced  that  he  was  going  to  that  meeting.  It  did  not 
at  all  suit  for  him  to  go  to  that  meeting.  The  horse  that 
he  said  he  would  ride  was  sorely  needed  for  another  very 
important  purpose,  and  there  was  an  act  of  domestic 
charity  and  sacrifice  which  he  was  urged  to  perform. 
He  put  his  foot  down  with  a  thud  that  almost  made  the 
hinges  rattle  on  the  doors  and  said  that  he  would  not 
do  it.  He  dressed  himself  up  in  a  morose  and  sullen 
manner,  strode  out  of  the  house,  as  if  he  were  leav- 
ing Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  mounted  the  horse,  whacked 


50  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

him  with  a  switch  and  loped  off,  leaving  a  disgruntled 
and  sorely  perplexed  household.  They  wondered  what 
was  the  matter  with  him,  anyway,  and  I  think,  al- 
though they  did  not  call  it  by  that  name,  they  united 
in  the  belief  that  it  was  an  extreme  case  of  demoniacal 
possession.  That  evening  he  trotted  up  to  the  horse- 
rack  very  placidly,  looking  as  innocent  and  far  more 
amiable  than  the  average  new-born  babe,  and  dashed 
over  the  horse-block  into  the  yard  and  announced  that 
he  was  converted.  The  news  did  not  command  enthusi- 
asm— the  hostile  humor  of  the  morning  still  held  sway 
and  the  members  of  the  family  conferred  together  in  an 
undertone  and  revealed  the  fact  that  they  were  gravely 
skeptical  as  to  how  it  could  be  possible  for  the  bad  fellow 
of  the  morning  to  be  the  trustworthy  convert  of  the  after- 
noon. 

But  the  dear  fellow  !  Rough,  uncouth,  hard  to  explain 
he  still  was.  It  took  religion  quite  a  while  to  get  in  its 
wol'k  on  him.  He  was  selfish,  wholly  exclusive  at  times, 
and  my  boyish  soul  peeped  out  at  him,  scanned  him, 
measured  him,  suspected  him,  was  often  grieved  by  him, 
but  by  careful  study  I  came  to  believe  that  if  his  religion 
was  not  always  agreeable,  it  was  tenacious,  genuine  and 
greatly  improving. 

We  cultivated  our  differences,  however,  did  some  quar- 
relling almost  every  day  and  slept  together  that  night. 
That  classical  school  of  which  I  have  spoken  put  me  in 
far  better  shape  for  college  than  my  brother  was,  and 
although  I  was  the  younger,  I  was  almost  a  year  ahead 
of  him  in  our  college  work.  We  also  had  in  that  school 
a  literary  society  that  gave  me  a  little  lift  in  public  speak- 
ing, and  when  I  went  out  to  teach  I  got  into  several  rude 
and  yet  useful  debating  societies  which  helped  to  knock 
me  into  some  crude  shape  for  appearing  on  the  platform. 

Not  so  with  my  brother.     He  was  twenty -two  years 


TRAINING  FOR  ACTION  51 

old  when  lie  weut  to  college,  and  the  only  public  speak- 
ing that  he  had  ever  done  was  in  the  shape  of  calls,  yells 
and  shouts  to  his  i^ack  of  hounds  when  he  was  afield, 
mad  with  sport  and  wild  with  the  sportsman's  joy.  We 
entered  the  literary  society  at  college,  and  I  must  say 
that  of  all  the  young  men  I  have  ever  known,  my  brother 
had  the  most  tragical  and  humiliating  experiences  in  his 
attempt  at  public  speaking.  In  his  early  efforts,  his 
mouth  shut  up  with  the  deadlj^  tightness  of  a  steel  trap, 
and  after  standing  entirely  too  long  in  the  futile  effort  to 
get  it  open,  tramped  back  to  his  seat  with  a  shame  that 
would  have  been  ruinous  if  it  had  not  been  amusing. 
After  a  while  he  grew  brave  enough  to  write  a  speech 
and  committed  it  until  he  could  sit  down  in  a  chair  and 
say  it  backwards.  When  he  came  to  the  society  and  his 
name  was  called,  he  stepped  alertly  to  the  platform  and 
struck  the  first  sentence,  but  never  got  through  it.  There 
he  stood,  making  repeated  efforts  for  another  start  and 
crashing  into  disaster  every  time.  After  much  delay 
and  with  a  look  more  of  defiant  purpose  than  of  failure, 
he  sat  down.  They  put  him  on  again,  and  this  time  he 
determined  to  prepare  his  address  and  read  it,  and  he 
answered  the  call  summoning  him  to  the  platform. 
Actually  he  lost  his  eyesight ;  try  as  he  would,  he  could 
not  read  the  thing,  but  he  pegged  and  fretted  and  broke 
down  every  time.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  would  have  been 
surprised  if  he  had  walked  up  aud  knocked  the  president 
out  of  the  chair ;  not  that  the  president  had  not  treated 
him  well,  but  he  was  so  indignant,  so  rebellious  and  so 
unhappy.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  he  had  all  the  feelings 
that  a  bashful  boy  is  heir  to,  except  the  feeling  in  favor 
of  quitting.  That  night  he  said,  '  ^  If  they  ever  put  me 
up  agaiu  I  will  not  commit  it  to  memory  ;  I  will  not 
write  it ;  I  will  not  read  it ;  I  am  going  to  think  it  out 
and  trust  to  my  memory  to  make  things  hum."     The 


52  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

time  came  and  he  had  every  item  of  his  schedule  in  good 
order,  and  then  went  absolutely  to  wreck  again.  It  is 
literally  true  that  this  went  on  with  one  bare  and  possible 
exception  for  four  years.  He  did  it  passably  well  in  his 
last  year  once  or  twice.  He  stood  high  in  his  graduating 
class.  There  were  only  six,  and  it  was  the  law  that 
every  one  should  deliver  his  graduating  address,  but 
that  was  one  time  when  my  brother  got  the  unanimous 
vote  of  the  faculty  that  he  should  be  excused  from  deliv- 
ering his  graduating  address. 

While  on  our  return  home  from  college  with  our  diplo- 
mas in  hand,  my  brother  well-nigh  broke  my  heart. 
*'  Of  all  the  men  in  the  world,"  he  said  pathetically,  '^  I 
think  my  case  is  the  most  peculiar  and  inexplicable.  The 
Lord  requires  me  to  do  a  thing  that  is  physically  im^jos- 
sible  for  me  to  do.  That  I  have  got  to  preach  the  Gospel 
is  just  as  certain  to  my  mind  as  my  existence  is.  On  that 
point  my  mind  does  not  waver  and  for  four  years  I  have 
sought  as  best  I  could  to  acquire  the  habit  and  art  of 
public  speaking  but  I  have  failed  always  and  beyond  all 
measure.  Here  I  am  with  my  diploma,  twenty-six  years 
old  and  all  my  teachers  and  all  of  my  fellow  students, 
while  liking  me  as  much  as  I  deserve,  count  it  a  hoax 
and  a  joke  that  I  should  believe  that  I  have  got  to  preach. 
And  I  have  ;  I  know  I  have,  but  what  to  do  next,  to  save 
my  life,  I  cannot  tell." 

There  was  an  appeal  in  it  that  brought  him  into  my 
soul  ;  by  this  I  had  learned  greatly  to  respect  him  and  in 
that  moment  my  heart  melted  in  a  great  embracing,  sym- 
pathetic love  that  grew  from  that  time  till  the  end.  I 
finally  told  him  that  I  would  ask  our  father  to  give  him 
some  money  and  with  it  he  must  start  into  the  moun- 
tainous regions  of  Virginia,  carrying  no  letters,  no  recom- 
mendations but  telling  the  people  as  he  went  along  the 
facts  in  the  case,  and  if  there  was  a  prayer-meeting,  to  go 


TKAINIXG  FOR  ACTION  53 

to  it  and  speak  or  fail,  as  the  case  might  be.  He  adopted 
the  suggestion  on  the  spot,  to  which  our  father  acquiesced 
in  a  most  cheerful  manner.  It  was  agreed  that  if  a  school- 
house  or  a  church  or  even  a  private  home  invited  him  to 
speak  he  should  make  the  trial.  If  his  effort  proved  un- 
acceptable, he  should  quietly  bow  himself  out  and  plunge 
forth  in  pursuit  of  another  invitation,  or  if  the  impression 
made  was  sufficiently  favorable  to  call  for  another  ap- 
pointment he  was  to  remain  as  long  as  the  hospitality  of 
the  occasion  held  out.  It  was  a  novel  experiment  and 
seemed  to  promise  the  laceration  of  his  nerves — except 
that  he  had  no  nerves,  simply  nerve.  There  was  an  ob- 
stinacy in  his  nature  which  not  only  endured  but  seemed 
to  revel  in  opposition  and  he  went  out  on  his  unparalleled 
expedition  without  apparent  misgiving  and  with  the  do 
or  die  spirit  within  him.  It  was  a  finishing  school  of  the 
peripatetic  order ;  its  schedule  named  no  locations  and 
bade  him  go  forth  to  find  them  ;  it  admitted  many  failures 
but  no  disasters  and  the  closing  of  the  campaign  would 
not  come  until  he  had  caught  the  trick  of  the  public  plat- 
form. About  six  months  were  consumed  in  this  hard 
and  memorable  expedition  and  he  came  back  a  conqueror, 
ungarlanded,  but  with  the  consciousness  that  he  was 
ready  for  business. 

It  waits  to  be  said  that  my  brother  became  an  exceed- 
ingly fluent,  ready,  self-possessed  and  humorous  public 
speaker.  He  was  pastor  for  quite  many  years  but  he  was 
too  blunt  and  outspoken  for  the  pastorate.  The  bulk  of 
his  life  was  spent  in  agency  work  under  the  boards  and 
societies  of  his  denomination.  He  travelled  through  the 
South  for  many  years,  speaking  continually  at  popular 
gatherings,  preaching  almost  every  Sunday  and  fre- 
quently during  the  week.  He  brought  the  things  of  the 
kingdom  to  great  assemblages  and  on  distinguished  occa- 
sions but  his  tongue  never  rolled  up,  never  hesitated.     His 


5i  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

last  day  on  earth  was  tlie  Sabbath  in  one  of  the  seaboard 
towns  of  the  South  and  it  was  testified  by  many  that  his 
sermon  in  the  morning  was  rich  with  resonance  and  in  a 
voice  that  carried  with  the  sibilant  ring  of  youth.  His 
sermon  left  an  imperishable  impression  and  before  the 
sun  went  down,  his  eyes  had  seen  the  light  of  the  ever- 
lasting hills. 

In  the  long  run  of  life  this  brother  of  mine  was  my 
steadfast  and  inspiring  friend.  We  were  brought  into  the 
.strongest  intimacies  during  a  part  of  our  lives,  and  though 
he  lived  out  of  Virginia,  his  comradeship  by  correspond- 
ence and  frequent  meetings  was  manna  to  my  soul. 
While  his  engagements  committed  him  to  travel  he  was 
an  ardent  lover  of  his  home.  It  was  a  joke  he  relished 
much  that  during  the  Civil  War  he  was  accounted  one  of 
the  most  denunciatory  and  vindictive  sort  of  men  towards 
the  North.  He  said  things  he  ought  not  to  have  said, 
though  I  believe  it  was  more  in  the  brusqueness  of  his 
manner  and  in  his  youthful  love  of  exaggeration  than  in 
real  bitterness  of  soul.  Years  after  the  civil  strife  was 
over  he  married  a  New  England  woman.  It  would  have 
been  hard  to  find  a  more  courtly,  afiectionate,  demon- 
strative husband  than  he  was.  He  was  a  widower  at  the 
time  of  this  marriage  and  had  three  strong  and  gifted 
children.  That  New  England  woman,  lovely  of  person, 
gifted  and  highly  trained,  not  only  made  for  him  a  most 
appreciative  and  helpful  wife  but  she  became  the  idol  of 
the  children,  and  after  he  was  taken  away,  though 
tempted  by  her  kindred  to  return  to  them,  she  lived  with 
these  children  who  gave  to  her  every  dollar  of  their  fath- 
er's possessions,  and  outside  of  that,  maintained  her  in 
handsome  style  till  her  end  came. 

I  must  be  pardoned  for  reviving  the  pleasant  memory 
that  when  my  brother  attained  his  threescore  years  and 
ten  I  had  the  honor  of  bringing  him  to  my  country  seat, 


TRAINING  FOR  ACTION  55 

Careby  Hall,  in  Virginia,  and  of  having  a  modest  full 
week's  house  party  in  his  honor.  His  kindred  and  old 
time  friends  were  brought  from  many  directions  and  it 
was  a  jubilant,  reminiscent  and  a  gloriously  serious  time 
withal. 

I  can  hardly  say  that  I  have  missed  him  for  there  was 
a  penetrative  quality  in  his  personality  which  outlived 
him  and  he  is  about  as  much  to  me  this  night  as  I  write 
these  lines  as  he  was  in  the  full  prime  of  his  manhood. 

I  did  not  suffer  with  the  halting  speech  that  so  long 
crippled  my  brother.  In  fact,  he  and  our  blunt-spoken 
kinsman.  Dr.  J.  B.  Jeter,  who  also  sometimes  broke 
down  through  the  treacherous  lapse  of  his  memory,  told 
me  very  frankly  that  in  their  judgment  my  tongue  ran 
by  some  hidden  mechanical  force  which  operated  quite 
outside  of  my  brain  and  that  I  could  talk  as  glibly  when 
I  had  nothing  worthy  of  saying  as  many  a  sensible  man 
could  when  he  was  charged  with  a  brain ful  message.  I 
took  my  punishment  without  open  rebellion  and  kept  my 
opinions  to  myself. 

I  think  I  can  truthfully  say  that  no  young  man  ever 
mussed  up  the  early  part  of  his  ministry  in  a  more  piti- 
less fashion  than  I  did.  My  first  pretense  at  a  sermon 
was  at  a  revival  meeting  which  a  young  man,  recently 
clerk  in  a  country  store  and  who  had  had  one  year  at 
school,  was  conducting.  He  preached  his  two  or  three 
sermonettes  several  times  over  and  as  I  dropped  in  and 
he  did  not  wish  to  go  over  them  again,  he  put  me  up.  I 
talked  ;  my  tongue  rattled  and  on  that  occasion  at  least, 
I  am  sure  that  my  lingual  activities  had  little  to  do  with 
either  my  head  or  my  heart  and  nothing  to  do  with  the 
heads  and  hearts  of  the  other  people.  The  only  thing 
that  I  ever  heard  from  the  sermon  was  as  I  walked  out 
into  the  shadows  of  the  night.  A  gruff  mountaineer 
standing  too  far  off  to  recognize  me  declared  that  ^*he 


66  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

bad  done  got  a  fa'r  night's  sleep  while  that  feller  was 
talkin'j"  I  being  that  selfsame  crumpled  and  shattered 
fellow.  The  president  of  our  college  was  the  pastor  of 
the  first  African  church  in  Eichmoud  and  it  was  inti- 
mated that  the  old  gentleman  sent  the  raw  material  down 
for  the  practice  that  they  could  get  in  speaking  to  their 
colored  brethren.  He  tried  me  once  and  the  way  in 
which  I  tried  the  peoj^le  elfectually  cut  off  any  further 
practice  on  my  part.  I  was  asked  also  as  the  last  on  the 
list  to  speak  at  a  mission  and  my  text  and  I  had  a  mis- 
understanding at  the  start  and  were  never  on  speaking 
terms  afterwards. 

On  my  return  to  my  Bedford  home  at  the  end  of  the 
second  session,  a  kindly  old  kinsman  invited  me  to  spend 
a  Sunday  with  him  and  let  him  see  what  I  could  do  on 
Sunday.  I  stayed  over  and  he  saw,  and  it  was  forty 
years  before  I  was  invited  to  that  pulpit  again.  That 
rare,  enchanting  thing  which  ministers  speak  of  as 
^'liberty"  never  once  came  my  way  in  those  early 
efforts  ;  indeed,  I  was  only  twenty-two  years  of  age, 
rude  and  unfit,  and  ought  to  have  shown  my  gumption 
by  my  silence,  but  it  takes  more  gumption  to  produce 
silence  than  I  had  in  stock  at  that  time.  But  the  dawn 
of  liberty  came  at  last.  It  was  sweet  as  the  grapes  of 
Eschol ;  it  had  in  it  the  very  wines  of  the  celestial  king- 
dom and  put  a  new  light  on  life  and  a  new  peace  in  my 
heart.  Father  Harris  was  the  pastor  of  the  Suck  Spring 
church  distant  from  my  home  about  seven  or  eight  miles. 
It  was  his  custom  to  begin  his  annual  revival  at  the  church 
on  the  first  Sunday  in  August,  and  finding  it  necessary  to 
be  elsewhere  on  that  day  and  finding  it  impossible  to  se- 
cure a  fitter  supply  for  his  pulpit,  he  invited  me  to  take  the 
place.  I  had  time  for  preparation  so  I  conned  over  my 
text,  walked  it  in  the  woods,  combed  out  the  tangles  of 
my  thoughts,  went  on  my  knees  about  it,  and  then  with 


TRAINING  FOR  ACTION  57 

many  dreads  and  with  enough  awkwardness  to  enliven  a 
circus  I  went  to  the  appointment.  For  one  thing  it  was 
country  people  in  front  of  me  and  there  were  mixed  into 
the  assembly  many  men  whom  I  knew  and  some  of  my 
old  schoolmates.  They  looked  at  me  with  a  friendly  and 
understanding  gaze.  They  sang  those  fine  old  revival 
songs  of  those  primitive  days  ;  my  text  was,  * '  Come 
unto  Me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  etc.," 
and  I  felt  the  beauty  and  the  power  of  my  Lord's  words 
as  I  uttered  them,  and  they  awakened  such  fires  in  the 
centre  of  my  being  as  had  never  touched  me  before.  A 
rude,  ill-jointed  sermon  I  know  it  was,  and  only  by  a 
strain  of  charity  could  it  be  called  a  sermon  at  all,  but  it 
opened  before  me  such  a  flame  of  light  that  I  had  things 
to  say — hot,  stirring,  Bible  things.  More  than  once  my 
face  ran  with  tears  and  my  voice  broke, — not  with  con- 
fusion, but  in  tenderness  and  feeling.  The  service  ended, 
and  I  held  back  and  hardly  ventured  to  mix  with  the 
people.  As  soon  as  I  could  I  mounted  my  horse  and 
turned  my  face  homeward  and  during  that  ride  the  first 
two  appreciative  things  were  said  to  me  whose  ring  of 
sincerity  touched  my  heart.  A  fine  old  gentleman  of  the 
church,  stately  and  dignified,  claimed  me  for  dinner  and 
as  he  rode  along,  he  said  with  choking  voice,  ^'How  I 
wish  my  boys  could  have  gotten  in  to-day,  and  could 
have  heard  you ;  I  think  they  could  not  have  resisted 
it."  His  boys  were  my  classmates,  Jesse,  John,  Robert, 
and  it  went  through  me  that  this  man  for  whom  I  had 
such  respect  had  seen  something  in  me  and  it  kindled  in 
me  a  happy  hope  that  I  might  help  him  in  bringing  them 
into  the  kingdom  of  God.  It  was  no  compliment,  it  was 
a  gracious  admission  that  gave  me  a  hint  that  after  all 
the  power  of  God  might  work  through  me. 

On  the  road  we  were  overtaken  by  another  man  who 
proved  to  be  one  of  my  old  teachers  when  I  was  a  small 


58  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

boy  and  the  three  of  us  jogged  along  together.  The 
question  was  started  as  to  who  was  to  conduct  the  meet- 
ings, and  no  one  seemed  to  know.  My  old  teacher,  who 
was  a  Methodist,  said  to  the  deacon,  in  a  warm,  paternal 
tone,  ''If  you  could  get  this  boy,  my  old  schoolboy,  to 
do  the  preaching  and  he  would  tell  that  story  as  he  told 
it  to-day,  we  would  have  a  great  revival."  Ah,  it  was 
glorious  to  have  my  old  teacher  say  a  word  so  bravely 
kind  about  the  dull  and  common  boj^  that  he  knew  me 
to  be,  and  who  strove  so  faithfully  when  I  was  at  the 
beginning  of  my  task  to  inspire  in  me  a  passion  for 
knowledge.  I  went  home  with  my  soul  hot  with  solemn 
and  heavenly  musings.  I  had  at  last  one  taste  of  min- 
isterial joy  ;  it  touched  me  far  too  deeply  to  kindle  in  me 
one  flicker  of  self-conceit.  It  brought  me  too  near  to  the 
invisible  things  of  the  kingdom  to  let  me  think  that  I  was 
anybody. 

Several  days  afterwards  I  got  a  message  from  the  old  pas- 
tor to  come  up  the  next  day  and  help  him  in  the  meeting. 
It  gave  me  palpitation  of  the  heart.  I  had  to  walk  out 
and  let  the  wind  blow  on  me  to  keep  from  shouting.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  anybody  had  indicated  a  willing- 
ness to  try  me  a  second  time.  I  thought  truly  my  great 
Master  had  whispered  to  me  that  the  joy  that  I  had  felt 
on  Sunday  would  come  back  to  me  when  I  took  up  the 
work  again.  The  next  day  after  this  invitation  came,  it 
rained  and  the  clouds  hung  heavy.  I  had  misgivings 
that  the  meetings  would  not  recover  from  the  effects  of 
that  freshet  but  the  clouds  broke.  All  that  stormy  day  I 
worked  on  a  sermon,  thinking  part  of  the  time,  speaking 
part  of  the  time  and  praying  about  all  of  the  time.  The 
next  morning  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky  and  away 
I  rode. 

All  of  my  sermons  put  together  would  not  have 
numbered    over    six    or    seven    and  all    that  I    knew 


TRAINING  FOR  ACTION  59 

about  tliem  was  tliat  I  had  failed  disastrously  on 
every  oue  of  them  except  one.  I  took  them  along, 
and  some  notes  that  I  had  picked  up  here  and  there, 
in  connection  with  texts  and  hoped  that  I  might  splice 
out  my  stock  till  the  meeting  closed  at  the  end  of  the 
week.  It  lasted  nearly  four  weeks  and  while  several 
other  ministers  were  there,  for  a  day  or  so,  and  the  old 
pastor  came  in  for  several  days  each  week,  the  burden  of 
the  talking  came  upon  me,  and  some  one  who  had  never 
heard  of  homiletics  and  would  never  have  known  theol- 
ogy if  it  had  called  to  stay  all  night  with  him,  declared 
after  the  meeting  was  over,  that  I  made  two  sermons  a 
day  and  preached  them  and  did  all  the  talking  to  the 
mourners  and  converts,  of  which  there  were  a  great 
mauy.  During  all  that  memorable  time  I  went  from 
house  to  house  among  the  brethren,  many  of  them  ex- 
ceedingly plain,  even  rude,  and  living  in  small  houses  in 
the  mountain  hollows  or  scattered  up  and  down  the 
neighboring  stream.  They  were  good  to  me  and  loved 
me  and  some  of  them  sought  to  make  a  greater  fool  of  me 
than  I  already  was  by  trying  to  tell  me  that  I  was  wast- 
ing my  time  by  not  going  into  the  ministry  at  once,  for  I 
had  education  enough.  Before  I  left  there  I  attended  the 
baptism  and  saw  besides  many,  many  women,  and  ever 
so  many  boys,  a  long  string  of  men,  strong,  successful, 
influential  men,  come  forth  to  be  enrolled  as  the  newly 
saved  children  of  the  King. 

I  have  thus  extensively  described  this  experience  be- 
cause its  light  was  shed  round  the  gateway  of  my  min- 
istry, and  when  I  look  back,  I  feel  that  it  was  there  that 
the  Lord  met  me  and  blessed  me  and  started  me. 

At  this  time  I  had  two  years  more  in  college  and 
practically  two  more  vacations,  and  this  time  was  given 
to  meetings  in  the  scattered  and  mountainous  places. 
They  were  the  only  places  that  wanted  me  and  I  knew 

\ 


60  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

well  enough  that  in  my  limited  preparation  I  was  fit  for 
nothing  else  and  only  partially  so  for  that,  but  those  were 
profitable  and  enchanting  days.  My  feet  would  walk  me 
around  the  world  if  by  that  I  could  be  brought  to  those 
buoyant,  radiant,  ineffable  experiences.  Odd  things, 
laughable  and  ridiculous  sometimes  occurred  and  often 
marred  the  services,  but  the  power  of  God  was  wonderful 
and  I  saw  such  tokens  of  the  grace  and  glory  of  the  king- 
dom that  it  braced  me  for  the  more  than  fifty  years  that 
I  have  been  in  the  ministry. 

One  thing  occurred  during  my  third  vacation  which  I 
did  not  desire  and  which  I  found  myself  unable  to  pre- 
vent. That  affable  and  gentlemanly  old  deacon  whose 
offered  hand  gave  me  strength  to  take  my  first  step 
towards  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  who  watched  over  me 
with  a  shepherd's  care,  made  a  motion  in  the  church 
meeting  calling  for  my  ordination.  I  made  my  protest 
against  it ;  my  judgment  truly  disapproved  it,  but  I  was 
overborne.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  favor  the  ordaining 
of  raw  and  unseasoned  youths.  It  often  puts  folly  into 
their  heads  and  rarely,  if  ever,  puts  grace  into  their  souls, 
and  the  saving  fact  of  my  case  was  that  while  hands  were 
laid  upon  me  and  I  did  feel  it  an  honor  to  be  a  minister, 
I  did  most  honestly  feel  that  it  ought  not  to  be  done.  It 
amounted  to  nothing,  and  it  would  have  been  far  more 
impressive  to  me  if  it  had  come  later. 

It  would  be  pleasant  but  not  edifying,  I  fear,  to  multi- 
ply incidents  of  those  ardent  and  happy  times.  It  must 
be  allowed,  however,  for  me  to  close  this  chapter  on  the 
ministerial  experiences  of  my  college  days  by  one  instance 
of  divine  power  which  deserves  to  be  told  in  every  lan- 
guage and  in  every  land  on  the  earth. 

K'ear  the  end  of  my  senior  year  in  college  we  had  a 
singular  revival.  It  was  apparently  without  any  human 
explanation.     The  president  of  our  college,  who  had  not 


TRAINING  FOR  ACTION  61 

gotten  into  the  religious  life  of  the  college,  and  who  did  not 
get  into  the  meetings  until  the  revival  fires  were  spread- 
ing with  uncontrollable  rapidity,  said,  when  he  did  come 
in,  in  a  somewhat  perfunctory  manner,  that  this  was 
distinctly  the  Lord' s  business — indeed,  a  performance  of 
heavenly  sovereignty,  since  no  one  had  expected  or  worked 
for  the  meeting.  He  did  not  know  that  a  band  of  devout 
students,  alarmed  at  the  worldliness  of  the  boys  and 
touched  with  solemn  fear,  entered  into  a  comx)act  to 
pray  for  better  things.  Oh,  the  joy  of  that  meeting  !  It 
was  conducted  exclusively  by  the  students.  They  se- 
lected one  or  two  of  the  young  men  to  conduct  the  serv- 
ices. It  was  just  such  a  revival  as  comes  now  and  then  to 
a  Christian  college.  It  hits  material  so  fresh,  so  respon- 
sive and  so  powerful,  and  kindles  the  young  spirit  of  the 
school  into  an  exultant  and  irrepressible  enthusiasm. 
The  memories  of  that  meeting  would  make  a  book,  and 
rarely  ever  do  they  come  back  without  opening  the  foun- 
tains of  my  soul.  The  services  were  held  in  the  chapel,  an 
hour  in  the  day  and  an  hour  at  night.  Personal  and  asso- 
ciated prayers  could  be  heard  day  and  night  in  the  dormi- 
tories. The  town  boys  fought  shy  and  practically  organ- 
ized to  resist  the  spiritual  things  of  the  hour.  There  was 
one  quite  colossal  fellow,  enormously  colossal  in  his  talk, 
bristling  with  bravado  and  insolently  boastful  of  his 
power  to  withstand  all  influences.  A  brilliant  and  capti- 
vating lad  of  the  city  was  invited  to  the  meeting  and  he 
told  this  boaster  about  the  invitation,  and  said  that  he 
would  come,  but  he  did  not  believe  it  would  be  possible 
for  him  to  resist  the  appeals  of  the  boys  and  of  his  own 
conscience.  This  prompted  the  haughty  scoffer  to  an- 
nounce that  all  city  students  who  chose  to  attend  the 
meeting  might  meet  him  at  a  certain  corner  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening  and  he  would  bring  them  to  the  meeting 
in  a  body  and  stand  between  them  and  danger.     It  was 


62  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

quite  a  trooping  gang  that  filed  in  that  night  under  his 
leadership.  That  was  a  night  of  heaven's  right  hand  and 
it  brought  a  shivering  sensation  when  that  large  crowd 
herded  in  with  such  seeming  indifference.  It  fell  to  me 
to  lead  the  meeting  that  night  and  I  was  almost  abashed 
by  the  fierce  and  determined  air  of  this  city  contingent. 
After  my  remarks  I  called  for  those  who  desired  to  take 
the  stand  for  Christ  and  scarcely  had  I  framed  the  invita- 
tion into  words  when  that  notorious  fellow,  ahead  of  all 
the  others,  started  forward  from  the  rear  of  the  room. 
It  was  an  incident  of  extraordinary  moment.  The  invita- 
tion needed  no  repetition.  The  slain  of  the  Lord  lay 
thick  and  that  was  the  epochal  night  of  the  meeting,  and 
of  the  lives  of  not  a  few  of  these  young  men.  There  was 
a  strain  of  eccentricity  in  the  character  of  this  leader  and 
it  showed  itself  at  every  point.  When  asked  why  he  sur- 
rendered so  suddenly,  he  said,  "  When  I  got  my  boys  to 
the  door  of  the  chapel,  they  were  praying  on  the  inside 
and  I  never  heard  such  praying  before.  It  went  all  over 
me  and  through  me  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was  cry- 
ing and  I  used  all  my  arts  to  hide  it  and  thought  I  was 
safe  when  I  went  thundering  into  the  room,  but  it  was 
not  long  before  I  found  that  my  resistance  was  gone  and 
it  was  settled  that  I  must  go.  I  had  led  those  boys  up 
there  in  a  bad  way  and  I  felt  that  it  was  my  duty  to  lead 
them  into  that  better  way  into  which  I  decided  so  sud- 
denly to  enter.''  He  had  a  bitter  time  getting  to  the 
light  and  peace  of  the  Gospel.  Indeed,  he  went  so  far  as 
to  say  with  gloomy  candor  that  it  did  not  look  to  him  as 
if  things  were  working  out  in  an  altogether  fair  way — 
that  he  believed  in  the  miller's  rule,  '^  first  come,  first 
serve,"  but  that  all  those  fellows  that  came  after  him 
were  rejoicing  in  the  light  and  he  was  still  stumbling  in 
the  dark.  He  went  to  our  excellent  president  and  told 
him  that  he  had  selected  him  as  his  ideal  Christian  and 


TRAINING  FOR  ACTION  63 

that  lie  was  going  to  set  it  as  his  mark  that  he  was  going 
to  be  like  him,  and  when  he  got  that  far,  he  would  cease 
to  strive,  for  he  felt  that  the  old  doctor  was  just  about  as 
good  as  he  ever  cared  to  be.  In  God's  good  time,  how- 
ever, after  days  of  perplexed  and  sorrowful  inquiry,  he 
saw  the  light  and  it  looked  as  if  we  would  never  see  the 
last  of  it.  He  had  a  word  for  everybody  and  a  very 
peculiar  one  for  the  president.  He  took  back  his  decla- 
ration that  he  was  going  to  form  his  life  according  to  the 
pattern  shown  him  in  the  good  life  of  our  president, 
Dr.  Robert  Ryland,  and  said  that  since  he  had  gotten 
a  glimpse  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  he  felt  that  he  must  give 
himself  to  the  straggle  of  being  like  Him. 

I  may  add  that  the  brilliant  boy  spoken  of  above  was 
one  of  the  converts.  Oh,  what  a  lovely,  gifted  boy  he 
was!  He  walked  off  with  the  honors  of  the  college 
three  years  later  in  the  early  part  of  his  seventeenth  year 
and  a  year  later  he  spent  the  night  with  me,  in  which  he 
told  me  how  repulsive  the  military  life  appeared  to  him. 
He  was  born  for  scholarship  and  gloried  in  books,  but  he 
said  to  me  over  and  over  again  that  night  that  a  boy  can 
never  be  a  man  unless  he  at  the  same  time  be  a  patriot. 
He  said  that  for  him  to  hide  in  a  bomb-proof  was  to  throw 
away  his  self-respect  and  to  dwindle  into  a  traitor.  It 
cut  me  all  to  pieces  to  see  a  youth  so  chivalric  and  so 
enslaved  by  duty  and  yet  so  enthusiastic  in  doing  the 
distasteful  ^thing  because  his  better  self  said  so.  Oh,  my 
glorified  brother  !  In  the  first  battle  into  which  he  went 
and  stood  without  a  tremor  and  served  his  battery  until 
a  bullet,  as  if  searching  for  the  noblest,  cut  through  his 
heart.  With  the  simple  words,  **  Oh,  my  mother,  my 
mother  !  "  he  lay  dead  upon  the  field.  But  the  memory 
of  that  boy  has  been  an  evangel  singing  among  our  col- 
lege comrades,  a  battle- song  of  duty  and  faithfulness  and 
heaven.     It  added  much  to  the  seriousness  of  my  life 


64  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

that  so  many  of  my  college  chums  and  not  a  few  of  the 
converts  of  that  meeting  afterwards  finished  their  careers 
on  the  battle-fields  or  in  the  hospitals  of  that  war,  so  mys- 
terious in  its  coming,  so  destructive  in  its  progress,  so 
far-reaching  in  its  purpose,  and  yet  so  gracious  and  so 
pacific  and  so  fraternal  and  so  patriotic  in  its  outcome. 

I  had  at  this  time  a  classmate  who,  though  very  worldly, 
commanded  my  respect  and  my  heart.  We  often  studied 
together  and  had  many  of  our  pleasures  and  occupations 
largely  in  common.  He  eschewed  the  meeting  and 
seemed  to  avoid  me.  I  confess  that  I  was  afraid  to  ap- 
proach him  :  indeed  all  of  the  Christian  students  agreed 
that  he  was  not  accessible.  Meanwhile  our  concern 
for  him  was  intense,  and  we  often  conferred  about  his 
case. 

One  night  I  saw  him  slip  hurriedly  and  stealthily  into 
the  chapel  and  shrink  into  the  back  bench.  As  soon- 
as  the  service  ended,  he  escaped  from  the  room  as  if  pur- 
sued by  the  avenger.  It  was  so  that  in  ascending  to  my 
room  on  the  third  floor  of  the  dormitory  I  had  to  pass  his 
door.  It  fastened  into  my  heart  that  I  ought  to  be  more 
faithful,  and  I  almost  grew  sick  with  dread  lest  if  I  ap- 
proached him  he  might  repel  me.  When  I  came  to  his 
door  it  stood  slightly  ajar,  and  I  pushed  it  open  and 
walked  in.  I  found  him  sitting  alone,  by  his  table,  and 
with  his  face  resting  in  his  hands.  Walking  up  to  him 
and  laying  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder  I  said,  ^'  Pardon 
me,  Joe,  but  I  must  speak  to  you.  The  dread  of  offending 
you  must  not  hold  me  back  any  longer.  You  know  my 
love  for  you,  and  I  would  have  you  know  my  desire  for 
your  salvation."  As  I  spoke  I  felt  the  quiver  of  his 
frame.  ^^  I  thank  you  for  speaking  to  me,"  he  said  with 
deep  emotion.  **  It  is  what  I  have  needed,  for  of  all  men 
on  the  earth  to-night  I  must  surely  be  the  most  miserable. 
You  said  something  in  the  meeting  to-night  that  pierced 


TRAINING  FOR  ACTION  65 

my  heart  like  a  dagger.  I  have  a  vow  upon  me,  made 
out  of  my  love  for  my  father  six  years  ago,  wheu  I  was 
a  boy  of  fourteen.  And  now  my  father  is  dead,  my  vow 
is  broken,  and  I  fear  that  my  soul  is  lost." 

*'  Not  lost  beyond  hope,"  I  quickly  replied.  ^'  Follow 
the  bent  of  your  vow  and  it  may  lead  you  to  salvation. 
Everything  depends  upon  what  you  do  with  your  vow. 
What  will  you  do?" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  turning  his  tearful  gaze  upon 
me  said  :  "  If  you  will  tell  me  how,  and  God  will  hear  the 
prayer  of  a  vow-breaker,  I  will  from  this  night  pay  this 
vow." 

His  roommate  was  not  a  Christian  and  was  at  that 
moment  studying  in  another  room.  He  requested  me  to 
go  after  him,  and  in  a  little  while  I  returned  with  the 
youth. 

^*  Wythe,"  the  young  man  said  to  his  roommate,  *'I 
have  determined  to  seek  the  salvation  of  my  soul,  and  I 
would  like  you  to  go  with  me."  The  fair  and  comely 
lad  did  not  hesitate,  and  the  two  agreed  that  they  would 
enter  the  kingdom  of  God,  if  only  the  gate  could  be  found 
open.  He  afterwards  became  Dr.  H.  Wythe  Davis,  the 
eminent  physician  of  Richmond,  Ya. 

I  went  out  and  found  a  few  devout  and  congenial  young 
men,  and  we  spent  an  hour  or  two  with  these  two  in- 
quirers after  the  Way.  We  had  choice  passages  of  the 
Bible  read  by  one  and  another ;  some  told  in  simple 
phrase  of  the  steps  by  which  they  entered  into  the  king- 
dom of  God.  Now  and  then  a  song  or  two  was  sung  and 
several  prayers  full  of  boyish  ardor  and  sympathy  were 
made.  No  effort  I  think  was  made  to  hasten  a  confession 
of  faith.  Towards  midnight,  the  group  dispersed,  but 
each  went  his  way  to  pray  for  this  scholarly  youug  student 
and  his  boyish  and  beautiful  roommate. 

Next  morning  as  I  was  dressing,  I  heard  the  noise  of 


66  ALONG  THE  TEAIL 

fleet  feet  coming  down  my  hall.  A  sudden  halt  and  a 
violent  turning  of  the  bolt,  and  in  sprang  Turner.  He 
looked  a  new  creature  from  top  to  bottom  ;  radiant  as  a 
spring  morning  he  bounded  into  my  open  arms  and  ex- 
claimed :  * '  Last  night  of  all  men  most  miserable,  I  must 
be  this  morning  of  all  men  most  favored  and  happy. 
My  vow  is  paid,  my  sins  I  believe  are  forgiven,  and  my 
life,  no  longer  my  own,  is  given  to  Him  who  gave  Him- 
self for  me.'' 

That  was  the  brilliant  and  accomplished  Joseph  A. 
Turner,  a  teacher  of  rare  abilities,  a  writer  whose  charm- 
ing stories  adorned  some  of  our  best  magazines,  and 
whose  Christian  character  was  the  admiration  of  all  who 
knew  him.  Valiant  friend  of  my  Lord  !  Years  ago  he 
finished  his  course. 


GOING  AT  IT 

AT  this  point, — if  any  one  should  ever  get  this  far, 
— the  reader  must  sacrifice  his  feelings  to  the 
extent  of  reading  two  or  three  paragraphs  of 
personal  history  of  freely  confessed  dullness.  In  June, 
1858,  I  received  my  diploma  from  Eichmond  College, 
made  my  graduating  address  on  ''The  Greatness  of  the 
Graduate,"  accepted  a  call  to  Manchester,  Ya.,  and  a  few 
days  afterwards  became  twenty-four  years  old.  I  had  no 
theological  education,  no  library,  no  money,  no  sermons, 
no  pastoral  experience  and  probably  no  business  in  ac- 
cepting the  charge  of  a  church.  The  Manchester  of  that 
day  was  not  the  Manchester  of  to-day.  It  was  a  cotton 
factory  town,  an  object  of  supreme  contempt  with  the 
Eichmond  people,  with  unpaved  and  unlighted  streets, 
with  only  one  church,  and  that  a  discordant  and  unpro- 
gressive  Methodist  church.  The  town  was  noted  for  the 
improvidence  of  its  men,  the  hard  life  of  the  factorj^  boys 
and  girls,  the  lack  of  public  spirit,  the  alarming  amount 
of  drunkenness  and  the  multitude  of  loafers  and  gamblers, 
and  the  prevalence  of  ungodliness  in  many  of  its  grossest 
forms.  Two  attempts  had  been  made  to  start  churches 
of  our  denomination  and  both  had  come  to  naught.  In 
some  way  I  had  picked  up  a  positively  malicious  prejudice 
against  the  town,  and  when  I  was  in  a  mood  to  make  bad 
wishes  about  anybody,  I  wished  that  they  might  have  to 
live  in  Manchester.  When  they  first  started  the  third 
movement  for  a  Baptist  church  I  was  in  my  third  year  at 
college,  and  for  the  lack  of  some  one  better  they  pulled  me 

67 


68  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

over  there  several  Sunday  mornings  to  make  such  a  noise 
in  the  pulpit  as  my  powers  would  justify.  They  were  wor- 
shipping, or  at  least  meeting  in  a  dismal  and  ill-kept  hall. 
They  gave  me  no  compensation  for  my  services,  most  of 
the  time  let  me  come  over  three  miles  from  the  college 
on  foot,  paying  my  own  toll,  giving  me  no  dinner,  and 
letting  me  go  back  to  college  too  late  for  dinner  there. 
One  hard-faced  and  loquacious  old  fellow  walked  with 
me  as  far  as  his  own  house,  deliberately  entered  his  gate, 
securely  shut  it  and  then  bucked  up  against  it  with 
marked  decision  and  asked  me  in  a  non-committal  tone, 
and  without  the  mention  of  dinner,  whether  I  would  come 
in.  Invariably  I  would  not  and  I  tramped  back  to  col- 
lege empty  of  most  everything  except  some  resentful 
thoughts  of  Manchester.  A  little  more  than  a  year  after 
that  I  was  shocked  into  a  tremor  by  a  message  that  a 
committee  from  Manchester  wished  to  see  me  the  next 
afternoon  at  six  o'clock.  Horribile  Dictu  !  I  revolted 
and  yet  collapsed  under  an  instant  apprehension  that  I 
was  to  begin  my  active  life  by  becoming  pastor  in  the 
town  which  of  all  others  on  this  terrestrial  globe  was  the 
most  distasteful  and  dismal  to  me.  It  turned  out  just 
that  way,  and  though  I  had  several  attractive  country 
fields  open  to  me,  under  the  power  of  a  conviction 
stronger  than  my  own  life,  I  found  myself  in  no  great 
while,  even  before  my  graduation,  engaged  to  be  the 
pastor  of  the  Manchester  Baptist  Church. 

Be  it  said  that  upon  inspection  I  found  things  signally 
improved  in  shape  since  my  hard  lot  as  pulx^it  supply 
some  time  before  that.  They  had  called  a  young  and 
attractive  university  student,  who  came  to  them  on  the 
fii'st  Sunday  of  that  year,  and  under  his  leadership  things 
had  quickened  up  surprisingly.  A  $10,000  house  of  wor- 
ship was  in  process  of  building  and  completed  far  enough 
to  hold  worship  in  the  basement.     Several  interesting 


GOING  AT  IT  69 

men  with  tlieir  families  had  joined  in  the  new  organiza- 
tion, and  two  or  three  great-hearted  Eichmond  BaiDtists 
had  agreed  to  come  over  every  Sunday  and  help  in  the 
Sunday-school.  They  w^ere  greatly  charmed  with  their 
young  pastor  and  things  moved  off  gloriously,  but  at  the 
end  of  three  months  death  claimed  the  young  loreacher 
and  left  the  sheep  stricken  and  without  a  shepherd. 
These  new  signs  of  life  gave  refreshment  to  my  spirit  and 
my  sense  of  duty  knocked  my  puerile  prejudices  out  of 
existence,  and  before  I  knew  it  I  found  it  the  choice  and 
pride  of  my  life  to  be  the  pastor  of  the  little  M5,nchester 
church.  The  awe-inspiring  president  of  the  college  ripped 
me  up  without  mercy  for  accepting  the  call,  assured  me 
that  the  worst  disasters  were  ahead  of  me  and  distinctly 
hinted  to  me  that  my  greatness  consisted  only  in  my  folly. 
Not  even  his  relentless  upbraidings  awoke  in  me  one 
doubt  as  to  my  duty  to  take  up  the  work  in  Man- 
chester. 

Think  not  that  I  found  a  bed  of  roses.  My  first  dis- 
covery was  that  the  church  building  was  to  cost  $10,000, 
that  87,000  of  the  work  had  already  been  done,  that  only 
$1,500  had  been  paid  on  the  debt,  that  the  rest  of  the 
debt  was  far  past  due  and  that  the  contractors  were  be- 
coming troublesome  and  also  that  it  would  require  $3,000 
to  finish  the  church.  There  was  next  to  no  money  in  the 
church  and  as  yet  no  cohesive  or  cooperative  enthusiasm 
in  tlie  body.  I  never  had  taken  a  collection  for  anything, 
and  hardly  knew  that  collections  were  taken  for  any- 
thing. I  had  the  country  look  stamped  deep  upon  me, 
knew  very  few  people  in  Eichmond  and  next  to  nobody 
anywhere  else.  There  never  was  a  greener,  nor  more 
helpless  human  thing  than  I  seemed  to  myself  to  be. 
Nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  the  situation  and  the 
miracle  came.  I  preached  my  first  clumsy  and  lumber- 
ing little  sermon  on  the  fourth  Sunday  in  August,  1858, 


70  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

chiefly  to  a  new  lot  of  well-behaved  empty  benches,  and 
then  went  out  of  town  for  a  week.  The  next  Sunday  I 
tried  it  again.  Tlie  weather  was  hot,  most  of  the  benches 
still  empty,  and  my  utterance  was  feeble  and  despondent. 
That  week  I  took  myself  out  for  a  private  interview,  and 
myself  and  I  went  over  the  situation  and  agreed  that  it 
was  grim  and  that  my  incomjDetency  was  grimmer.  We 
finally  got  together, — that  is,  I  and  myself,  and  passed 
one  resolution,  that  we  would  go  in  with  both  hands  and 
both  feet,  with  heart  and  soul,  day  and  night,  praying 
all  the  time,  and  would  work  one  solid  year,  though  it 
should  be  on  empty  benches,  though  there  was  not  a  con- 
version, not  a  visible  tear,  not  a  sign  nor  symptom  of 
interest  or  progress  during  all  the  time. 

I  felt  better.  I  had  settled  in  Manchester  and,  in  a 
way,  was  ready  for  business.  I  went  to  prayer-meeting 
on  Friday  night,— the  first  which  I  had  attended,  and 
the  attendance  was  sensibly  larger.  My  soul  picked  up  a 
crumb  of  the  bread  of  life  and  I  had  something  to  say. 
To  my  unutterable  surprise  a  young  woman  was  glori- 
ously saved  while  I  was  talking,  a  fact  which  she  indi- 
cated only  by  the  radiance  of  her  face  and  the  flow  of  her 
joyful  tears.  It  broke  up  all  hearts.  It  was  a  time  of 
God's  right  hand,  and  instead  of  waiting  one  year  for  a 
convert  here  was  one  within  two  days. 

Sunday  morning  the  congregation  thickened  up  and 
we  saw  the  wonders  of  God's  salvation.  In  a  few  weeks 
our  membership  went  from  thirty-five  beyond  a  hundred. 
The  news  flew  across  the  river  and  multitudes  came  over 
to  see  what  was  going  on. 

One  morning  a  Richmond  merchant,  George  J.  Sumner, 
who  walked  every  Sunday  morning  three  miles  to  super- 
intend our  Sunday-school,  and  myself  took  a  little  book 
and  trudged  around  Richmond  for  a  couple  of  days  and 
then  sat  down  and  counted  results,  and  we  had  two  then- 


GOING  AT  IT  71 

sand  dollars  towards  liftiDg  the  church  debt.  The  good 
women  of  the  several  churches  in  Richmond  agreed  that 
they  would  give  an  entertainment  to  help  us  out,  and 
they  nearly  knocked  my  breath  out  by  enclosing  me  a 
check  for  $1,600.  I  had  never  seen  so  much  money  in 
my  life,  and  my  own  people  took  fire  and  gave  me  nearly 
a  thousand  dollars.  I  took  the  road,  went  into  the  news- 
papers, beat  the  brush  far  and  wide,  and  the  first  thing  I 
knew  the  church  did  not  owe  one  dollar. 

But  then  the  house  was  not  finished,  and  it  required 
$3,000  to  do  it.  The  faithful  Sumner  ordered  me  out 
again.  We  tramped  Richmond  once  more  and  finished 
the  house  and  paid  the  debt, — though  not  all  before  the 
dedication. 

But  there  was  another  vexatious  and  frightful  situation. 
I  found  thirty-five  members  of  the  church  when  I  got 
there,  but  candor  compels  me  to  say  that  we  had  to 
turn  out  a  large  number  of  them,  and  would  have  turned 
others  out,  as  they  deserved,  but  for  the  fact  that  we 
had  nobody  to  do  the  voting.  It  has  always  been  a  mys- 
tery to  me  how  so  much  heterogeneous  and  unregenerate 
material  could  have  gotten  into  a  church  with  only  thirty- 
five  members  all  told.  Our  treasurer  never  could  make 
a  satisfactory  report.  Our  choir  leader  was  turned  out 
for  habitual  cruelty  to  his  wife.  Our  clerk  was  found  to 
be  spending  many  of  his  nights  at  the  card-table.  Our 
senior  deacon,  who  collected  the  money  for  my  salary, 
had  his  drunken  sprees  much  more  regularly  than  he 
paid  me  my  salary,  and  the  most  prominent  woman  of 
the  church  had  almost  infinite  genius  for  breeding  dis- 
cords, enmities  and  heart  burnings  among  the  sisters. 
Nor  was  the  case  much  better  in  the  Sunday-school.  One 
class  of  girls  was  taught  by  a  Universalist,  and  she  allowed 
the  worst  disorders  and  the  most  irreverent  manners  in 
her  class  j  another  woman  teacher,  blatant  and  insuffer- 


72  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

able,  had  to  be  peremptorily  ejected,  and  so  grievous 
were  the  disorders  that  my  ever  faithful  Brother  Sumner 
aud  myself  determined  to  reorganize  the  school,  and  it 
cost  us  over  one- third  of  its  constituency  ; — truly  un- 
savory things  that  ought  not  to  be  remembered  and 
surely  can  hardly  be  attractive  features  in  a  book  of 
reminiscences. 

But  I  tell  these  things  to  show  that  we  need  not  de- 
spair because  things  are  crosswise  and  out  of  sorts.  It  is 
a  good  thing  to  do  right ;  it  makes  a  lot  of  trouble  while 
you  are  at  it,  but  there  is  something  constructive,  vitaliz- 
ing in  cleaning  up  things  for  the  Lord.  Our  Master  had 
stirring  times  indeed,  with  the  birds  and  the  beasts  and 
the  desecrators  in  the  temple.  But  He  purified  it,  though 
under  the  crack  of  a  whip.  The  Lord  looked  as  if  He 
could  not  do  enough  for  us  after  this  process  of  purifica- 
tion, and  many  of  those  that  we  sent  away  because  of 
their  offensiveuess  repented,  came  back  and  did  noble 
service  in  the  restoration  which  followed.  Peace  to  the 
tomb  of  George  J.  Sumner— frail  of  health,  sore  of  foot, 
sometimes  the  victim  of  depression  and  yet  he  wielded 
the  battle-axe  of  truth  and  always  struck  on  the  Master's 
side. 

No,  times  did  not  go  easily  with  me.  I  made  enough 
mistakes  of  my  own  to  make  life  well-nigh  intolerable  at 
times.  As  for  enemies,  they  were  ever  with  me.  The 
first  interesting  lie  that  was  ever  told  on  me  that  I  heard, 
absolutely  brought  me  to  the  dust.  For  a  time  I  never 
dreamed  that  I  could  outlive  it.  A  big  and  rugged  fel- 
low turned  the  rumor  into  the  street  that  he  had  seen 
me  in  one  of  the  most  disorderly  barrooms  in  Richmond, 
and  in  my  simplicity  I  thought  everybody  would  believe 
it,  and  I  had  hours  of  entirely  unnecessary  anguish  about 
it,  although  I  knew  that  never  in  my  little  life  had  I  ever 
crossed   the  threshold  of  a  barroom.     The  rumor   dis- 


GOING  AT  IT  73 

solved  and  I  survived  and  I  began  to  learn  that,  as  a  rule, 
slander  will  cure  itself  if  you  will  only  give  it  time. 

There  was  an  old  Baptist  preacher  and  his  wife,  mem- 
bers of  my  church.  He  was  a  missionary  out  in  the 
country.  His  son  was  a  ministerial  student  at  Eichmond 
College  and  his  conduct  got  him  into  such  serious  trouble 
that  he  was  sent  away  and  the  other  ministerial  students, 
with  an  empty  sort  of  heroism,  pledged  themselves  never 
to  recognize  him  as  a  minister  unless  they  had  satisfac- 
tory proof  of  his  repentance.  His  bad  habits  continued 
after  he  left  college,  as  I  was  made  to  know  against  my 
wishes,  and  about  that  time  he  came  to  Manchester  to 
visit  his  parents.  His  presence  was  very  embarrassing 
to  me,  but  I  went  my  quiet  way  until  I  learned  that  he 
was  about  to  be  made  pastor  of  several  rural  churches 
not  far  from  Manchester.  I  wrote  a  note  to  a  prominent 
gentleman  suggesting  that  they  look  into  the  facts  of  the 
case,  telling  where  the  proofs  could  be  found.  Then  the 
trouble  came.  I  was  boarding  in  the  hotel  and  the  old 
master  of  the  hostelry  was  a  most  kind-hearted  friend  of 
mine.  I  found  that  he  was  in  great  mental  distress  about 
something,  little  dreaming  what  it  was  until  at  last  his 
anxiety  took  tongue  and  told  me  that  the  father  of  the 
young  minister  had  called  to  say  that  I  had  committed  a 
mortal  offense  and  would  be  forced  out  of  the  town.  I 
was  touched  by  the  gloomy  sympathy  which  the  old  gen- 
tleman evinced,  but  not  driven  to  despair  by  the  revela- 
tion as  to  my  projected  downfall.  In  a  few  days  the 
offended  father  called  at  the  hotel  and  sent  a  message  to 
my  room  that  he  must  see  me  in  the  parlor.  He  was  a 
man  of  almost  colossal  frame,  with  a  voice  correspond- 
ingly big,  but  withal  self-indulgent,  fearfully  epicurean 
in  his  habits,  fitful  in  his  temper,  incompetent  in  busi- 
ness affairs,  and  not  capable  of  a  long-sustained  contest. 
I  was  young,  feeble  in  health,  unused  to  conflict  and  I 


T4  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

met  him  with  some  misgiviugs.  I  allowed  him  to  state 
his  case  without  interruption  and  he  sought  to  manage  it 
with  the  adroitness  of  an  expert.  He  told  me  that  he 
had  just  come  from  the  country  where  he  left  the  people 
mad  with  excitement  and  set  on  vengeance,  and  that  it 
was  all  about  his  son.  A  letter  had  been  written  which 
reflected  upon  his  son  and  that  a  man  in  the  city  of  Eich- 
moud  was  suspected  of  writing  the  letter,  and  the  feeling 
against  him  was  such  as  would  make  it  dangerous  for 
him  ever  to  go  into  that  section,  now  so  wrought  up  with 
animosity.  Evidently  his  idea  was  to  afford  me  an  easy 
way  of  escape  by  laying  the  matter  on  the  shoulders  of 
my  absent  friend  in  Richmond.  I  gave  him  ample  time 
and  put  ample  space  between  the  brief  things  I  dropped 
in  reply.  I  told  him  that  the  gentleman  under  suspicion 
was  a  great  letter  writer  and  that  I  could  not  assert  abso- 
lutely that  he  did  not  write  the  letter  in  question,  but  that 
I  must  be  frank  enough  to  say  that  it  was  far  more  prob- 
able that  I  was  the  author  of  the  document  which  had 
kindled  the  wrathful  flame  of  which  he  spoke.  I  told 
him  that  I  had  written  a  letter  about  his  son,  but  did  not 
tell  him  that  I  had  written  it  at  the  suggestion  of  the 
Richmond  gentleman  whom  he  had  brought  into  the 
case.  I  told  him  I  knew  his  son  at  college  and  had  seen 
the  certificates  as  to  his  recent  drunkenness  and  misde- 
meanors and  that  my  letter  simply  called  attention  to 
these  documents,  and  that  all  that  he  had  to  do  was  to 
take  up  the  case  and  disprove  the  charges  in  the  case.  I 
expressed  regret  that  my  action  had  caused  such  un- 
friendliness against  me,  but  I  told  him  that  I  was  quite 
young,  belonged  to  a  family  noted  for  its  longevity  and 
felt  hopeful  of  living  long  enough  for  the  little  tempest 
of  which  he  spoke  to  blow  itself  out.  He  told  me  that  I 
was  hopelessly  ruined,  that  I  could  neither  get  bed  nor 
bread  in  that  storm-riven  community,  and  in  reply  I  told 


GOING  AT  IT  75 

him  that  under  such  perilous  conditions  I  would  avail 
myself  of  his  warning  and  stay  out  until  calmer  times 
should  come.  He  became  taciturn  and  I  saw  that  his 
purpose,  so  wrathful  at  first,  was  beginning  to  shake,  and 
after  a  while  he  pulled  out  a  very  formidable  paper, 
opened  it  carefully  and  informed  me  that  some  time  be- 
fore that  he  had  become  involved  in  financial  embarrass- 
ments which  were  annoying  him  seriously  and  crippling 
his  usefulness,  and  that  these  friends  out  in  the  country 
had  organized  a  movement  to  i)ay  him  out.  He  passed 
the  paper  over  to  me  and  asked  if  I  could  put  a  word  in 
favor  of  the  movement  on  the  paper.  He  supposed  that 
the  perils  of  the  situation  would  scourge  me  into  com- 
pliance. I  paused  not  to  consider,  but  I  took  the  for- 
midable paper  and  wrote  in  big  conspicuous  letters  my 
approval,  and  closed  it  with,  for  me,  quite  a  respectable 
gift  in  cash  and  passed  it  back.  I  knew  the  people  out 
in  that  neighborhood  would  have  ample  opportunity  to 
study  that  paper,  and  I  took  pains  to  date  my  note  of 
commendation  and  felt  that  the  old  gentleman  would  un- 
consciously do  vigorous  missionary  work  in  allaying  the 
belligerent  outbreak  against  my  young  and  delicate  repu- 
tation. 

But  that  was  not  the  end  of  it.  The  mother  in  the 
case,  the  wife  of  this  old  gentleman,  was  built  on  a  differ- 
ent pattern.  She  had  a  memory  that  could  not  forget, 
an  imagination  which  could  give  color  of  evil  to  simplest 
things,  an  energy  that  could  work  night  and  day  and  a 
tongue  that  could  slash  and  cut  the  name  of  an  adversary 
about  as  ruthlessly  as  it  could  be  done.  She  did  me  up 
in  all  ways.  She  was  a  member  of  my  church  and  the 
way  she  would  scurry  up  and  down  the  streets,  tackling 
a  man  here,  running  in  to  see  a  woman  there,  firing  into 
me  in  the  market,  writing  notes  and  sowing  insinuations 
beside  all    waters,  was  something  that  had  not  before 


Y6  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

dawned  upon  me.  I  had  been  on  the  field  only  four  or 
five  months  j  things  were  new  to  me  and  I  was  verdant 
and  rustic  and  so  it  did  look  as  if  my  little  bark  had  en- 
countered storms  too  wild  and  strong  to\be  outridden. 
If  new  families  moved  in  she  beat  me  out  of  my  boots  in 
getting  there  and  helped  them  set  up  the  furniture  and 
also  set  them  against  me.  If  I  received  new  people  into 
the  church  on  Sunday  she  was  likely  to  call  on  them  on 
Monday.  Inasmuch,  however,  as  this  was  all  the  church 
work  that  she  was  doing,  things  did  not  crumble  under 
her  ministry  as  my  untutored  fears  led  me  to  apx3rehend. 
She  had  three  or  four  burly,  rather  boisterous  boys,  and 
there  were  many  rumors  that  they  had  vengeance  bottled 
up  and  only  waited  the  fitting  moment  for  breaking 
them  on  my  head.  Of  course  the  matter  had  its  worries. 
It  caused  some  temporary  alienations.  One  of  the  boys 
did  actually  come  to  my  house  on  an  exceedingly  rainy 
night.  I  pulled  him  in,  out  of  the  storm,  chatted  freely 
with  him  about  matters  and  things,  told  him  that  he  was 
looking  uncommonly  well,  that  his  face  was  ruddy  to  red- 
ness and  that  I  hoped  that  he  would  have  a  career  large 
and  fine.  I  was  skeptical  as  to  whether  he  enjoyed  the 
visit  and  bore  his  departure  without  breaking  my  heart. 
Events  and  incidents  of  this  lamentable  affair  multiplied 
and  kept  up  for  two  or  three  years  and  some  friends 
with  unthinking  kindness  furnished  me  ample  advice, 
and  that  without  any  expense,  that  it  would  be  best  for 
me  to  bale  up  my  goods,  take  a  hint  from  adverse  fortune 
and  move  out  and  away. 

At  some  critical  moments  I  would  have  found  some 
relief  in  following  this  counsel,  but  in  spite  of  all, 
Manchester  struck  me  as  a  good  place  for  me  to  be.  I 
found  my  people  all  around  me  embarrassingly  ready  to 
fight  for  me  and  heartily  united  in  the  work  of  the 
church.     Almost  any  storm  will  wear  itself  out,  and  that 


GOING  AT  IT  77 

tempest  that  seemed  so  tlireateniug  used  up  its  violent 
breath,  aud  fretted  itself  into  quiet. 

The  young  man  did  uot  get  the  churches  and  the  old 
man  fell  into  disfavor,  and  in  a  year  or  two  the  big 
furniture  wagons  stopped  at  his  gate,  crashed  and  packed 
his  goods  together  and  moved  him  away.  I  do  hope  that 
I  will  not  be  misunderstood  in  giving  this  reminiscence 
of  an  early  trial  which  met  me  at  the  gate  of  my  public 
career.  It  has  in  it,  I  am  sure,  no  note  of  resentment,  and 
while  it  is  a  clouded  and  unwinsome  episode,  it  may 
strengthen  the  purpose  of  some  young  man  to  breast 
adverse  fortune  in  the  discharge  of  his  Christian  duties. 
It  gives  me  a  modest  joy  to  know  that  in  after  years  when 
age  aud  sorrow  grew  heavy  upon  the  shoulders  of  that 
old  couple  I  had  an  opportunity,  far  more  limited  than  I 
would  have  had  it  be,  to  do  them  service  which  I  had 
reason  to  believe  smoothed  their  path  on  the  down-hill  of 
their  life.  It  looked  as  if  grace  from  the  invisible  throne 
grew  richer  and  wrought  more  mightily  in  them  in  their 
last  days  aud  that  when  their  end  came  it  was  peace  on 
earth,  good  will  towards  men  and  light  ineffable  on  the 
hills  beyond. 

My  Manchester  pastorate  covered  the  period  of  the 
war.  I  was  there  when  it  was  packed  with  refugees, 
government  operatives,  soldiers  and  exiles.  Its  great 
buildings  were  hospitals  except  one,  and  that  the  greatest, 
which  was  a  prison  in  which  was  confined  almost  an 
army  of  Federal  prisoners.  It  would  be  easy  to  write 
a  book  of  that  period,  full  of  victory,  of  tragedy  and  of 
wreck,  but  that  is  outside  of  my  purpose. 

For  some  time  after  the  fall  of  Eichmond  Manchester 
was  in  charge  of  a  brigade  of  negro  troops.  It  brought  a 
lamentable  situation.  Kiot,  robbery  aud  bloodshed  were 
rampant,  and  the  suddenly  emancipated  negroes  went  mad 
with  excess  aud  brought  the  town  to  the  verge  of  ex- 


78  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

termination.  Business  was  dead,  private  homes  had 
their  windows  nailed  up,  their  doors  barred.  Counted  by 
heart- beats  we  lived  fast  in  those  dreadful  days  and  the 
wonder  was  that  we  lived  at  all.  In  good  time  peace  set 
her  banners  fluttering  in  the  air,  business  tremulously 
oi)ened  its  doors,  the  church  bells  rang  and  we  lived 
again.  I  wonder  now  in  looking  back  that  disorder 
brought  so  little  bloodshed  and  that  law  so  soon  uttered 
its  voice  and  silenced  the  tumult. 

When  the  war  ended  I  had  over  five  hundred  members 
in  my  church,  gatherings  of  the  war  times,  and  when  the 
end  came  my  flock  went  away  by  the  hundreds, — some 
back  to  their  old  homes,  and  many  went  afar  to  seek  their 
fortunes  in  unknown  fields. 

In  a  little  while,  however,  the  life  of  the  town  began  to 
quicken.  Many  branches  of  business  sprang  up.  The 
tobacco  and  cotton  factories,  the  foundries  and  building 
operations  started  up  with  amazing  briskness  and  the  town 
filled  rapidly  with  new  people.  I  remained  just  two  years 
in  my  Manchester  pastorate  and  during  that  time  there 
were  several  hundred  additions  to  the  church.  They 
said  always,  and  all  seemed  to  say  it,  that  Manchester  was 
an  ill-conditioned  and  spiritless  town,  but  it  was  the 
scene  of  nine  years  of  happy  toil,  loyal  hearts,  friend- 
ships dearer  than  life  and  tokens  of  heavenly  favor, 
which  made  it  lovely  and  unspeakably  dear  to  my  heart. 

Those  years  in  the  grim  old  town  across  the  bridge 
were  enriched  with  countless  incidents  such  as  hold  my 
heart  to  this  moment,  but  I  can  only  venture,  in  shutting 
the  leaves  of  this  chapter,  to  add  two  incidents  whose 
pathos  and  beauty  tell  of  the  light  which  shone  in  the 
darkness. 

It  was  in  August,  1866,  while  pastor  in  Manchester,  that 
I  went  to  Hopeful  Church  on  the  border  line  of  Louisa 
County  to  help  in  a  revival  meeting.     I  was  greeted  in 


GOING  AT  IT  79 

the  cliurchyard  by  a  college  mate  who  said  to  me  with 
decided  feeling  that  he  hoped  that  my  coming  might  re- 
sult in  the  conversion  of  his  brother.  I  felt  the  force 
of  his  request,  and  said  that  I  wished  that  I  might  be 
honored  in  helping  him  to  bring  his  brother  into  the 
service  of  the  Lord. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  meeting  commenced  I  walked 
quietly  down  the  aisle  on  the  men's  side  during  the  sing- 
ing at  the  close  of  the  sermon.  My  eye  chanced  to  fasten 
on  an  exceedingly  strong  face,  and  one  which  reminded 
me  in  some  way  of  my  old  college  friend.  I  reached  over 
and  asked  him  if  he  was  not  the  brother  of  my  former 
chum  at  Eichmond  College.  He  replied  that  he  was  and 
appeared  so  serious  that  I  ventured  to  say  to  him  that  I 
had  heard  of  him,  and  that  I  was  already  hoping  to  see 
him  take  a  stand  in  honor  of  the  Gospel.  ^'  That  is  what 
I  well  know  I  ought  to  do,"  he  said  very  seriously.  "I 
infer  from  your  thoughtful  manner,"  I  said,  ''that 
you  recognize  it  as  one  of  the  most  solemn  duties  of 
your  life  that  you  should  confess  and  follow  the  Son  of 
God  and  I  ask  you  squarely.  Are  you  not  willing  to  do 
your  duty  T'  A  frown  vexed  his  brow,  and  in  a  tone  al- 
most resentful  he  said,  *'  No,  I  am  not  willing  to  become 
a  Christian."  I  drew  myself  away  with  an  air  of  finality 
as  if  I  was  giving  the  matter  up.  He  laid  his  hand  upon 
my  arm  and  drew  me  back,  and  said  in  a  whisper,  "Do 
not  misunderstand  me,  I  beg ;  I  mean  no  disrespect  to  you 
or  to  religion,  but  I  cannot  think  of  becoming  a  Chris- 
tian at  this  time.  I  have  a  reason,  but  it  must  not  be 
told." 

From  something  that  had  been  said  to  me,  I  was 
prompted  to  tell  him  that  I  thought  I  knew  the  cause  of 
his  refusal,  but  he  replied  with  ill-suppressed  excite- 
ment, "  I  hardly  think  so  j  if  you  do  know,  don't  tell  me 
you  do." 


80  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

"  Excuse  me,  young  man,"  I  said,  **  I  believe  that  you 
are  afraid  to  become  a  Christian  because  your  ambition 
is  leading  you  very  strongly  in  another  direction,  and  you 
are  afraid  if  you  are  converted  you  will  have  to  preach 
the  Gospel." 

It  was  a  centre  shot,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
stay  the  outburst  of  emotion.  Then  he  told  me  that  for 
years  he  had  felt  that  he  must  preach  the  Gospel  if  he 
openly  espoused  the  cause  of  Christ,  and  this  he  was  not 
willing  to  do.  His  arrangements  were  already  completed 
for  entering  the  University  of  Virginia  to  prepare  him- 
self for  the  medical  profession.  I  left  him.  After  the 
services  closed  and  as  I  was  standing  on  the  church  steps 
I  saw  him  riding  slowly  across  the  churchyard  and  I 
walked  out,  and  intercepted  his  horse.  ''  You  are  grap- 
pling a  great  problem,"  I  said.  ''  I  would  like  to  make 
one  request  of  you  :  go  home  to-night,  get  your  Bible, 
lock  yourself  uj)  in  your  room,  turn  to  the  Fifty -first 
Psalm,  get  upon  your  knees  and  talk  with  God  about 
3'our  future  and  your  duty.  If,  after  you  have  done  this, 
you  find  yourself  decidedly  unwilling  to  hear  the  call  of 
God,  take  your  Bible  and  write  across  its  blank  page, 
'Eesolved,  that  I  will  never,  never  be  a  Christian,'  and 
then  take  your  Bible  and  burn  it.  You  will  have  no 
further  use  for  it.  If,  however,  you  are  willing  to  hear 
the  voice  of  God  and  to  follow  Him,  then  write  on  the 
blank  page,  ^  Eesolved,  that  from  this  hour  I  give  up 
everything  in  this  world  for  Christ,  and  give  myself  to 
Christ.'  "  He  touched  his  horse  and  without  a  word  rode 
away.  Through  all  that  night  this  young  man  engaged 
my  thought.  I  reached  the  church  early  the  next  morn- 
ing and  scanned  the  groups  in  the  yard,  but  I  could  not 
find  him.  I  watched  the  arrivals,  hoping  to  find  him. 
I  watched  in  vain.  I  scanned  the  crowd  in  the  house, 
but  I  saw  no  sign  of  him,  and  the  conviction  fastened 


GOING  AT  IT  81 

upon  me  that  his  worldly  ambition  had  carried  him  off, 
and  I  should  see  him  no  more.  Isly  sermon  was  depressed 
in  its  spirit  by  the  dread  thought  that  I  had  lost  a  man, 
but  when  I  finished  preaching  I  stepped  to  the  lower 
platform  still  imbued  with  a  masterful  anxiety  about  the 
young  man,  and  said,  *'I  wonder  if  there  is  a  person  in  this 
house  who  would  be  willing  to  give  uj)  this  world  for 
Jesus  Christ,  and  to  give  himself  to  Jesus  Christ."  I 
stopped  short  right  there.  The  doors  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  house  were  double  doors,  and  the  leaf  of  the  door 
on  the  men's  side  was  open  very  wide.  During  the  pause 
I  noticed  that  leaf  slowly  shut  and  from  behind  it  emerged 
a  man — intending  as  I  supposed  to  go  out,  but  instead  he 
headed  towards  the  pulpit,  and  greatly  to  the  thrilling  of 
my  soul,  I  saw  that  it  was  the  young  man  that  I  had 
given  up.  It  was  with  an  alert  and  buoyant  step  that  he 
approached  me  and,  extending  his  hand,  said,  ''The 
matter  is  settled  with  me.  Here  and  now  I  give  up  this 
world  for  my  Saviour  and  give  myself  to  Him."  Then 
turning  and  facing  the  audience  he  said,  ''My  friends 
and  neighbors,  you  have  known  me  all  my  life,  and  you 
have  marked  me  as  a  worldly  and  reckless  young  man. 
All  that  is  gone  and  from  this  time  I  give  up  the  world 
for  Jesus  Christ  and  give  myself  fully  to  Him."  A  new 
man  was  born  into  the  kingdom  of  God  that  day.  It  was 
a  conversion  so  clear,  so  free  from  unthinking  emotion, 
and  yet  so  genuine  and  convincing  that  it  was  more  im- 
pressive than  if  an  angel  had  appeared  from  heaven.  It 
could  truly  be  said  it  shook  the  entire  neighborhood. 
A  few  days  later  he  was  baptized. 

One  morning  in  the  early  twilight  I  was  aroused  by  an 
energetic  ringing  of  my  door-bell.  There  he  was,  the 
same  young  man.     "  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Just  as  you  said,"  he  answered,  "  and  just  as  I  fore- 
saw, my  call  has  come  and  I  must  go.     I  start  this  morn- 


82  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

ing  for  the  Southern  Baptist  Theological  Seminary  at 
Greenville,  South  Carolina,  and  I  waked  you  up  to  tell 
you  and  bid  you  good-bye." 

That  was  W.  Carter  Lindsay,  now  known  all  over  the 
South  as  the  Nestor  of  the  Baptist  ministry  of  South  Car- 
olina, for  a  third  of  a  century  the  honored  pastor  of  the 
First  Baptist  Church  of  Columbia  in  the  Palmetto  State. 

Oh,  for  young  men,  thousands  of  the  very  pick  and 
flower  of  our  country,  who  would  be  willing  to  say,  ''I 
give  up  all  for  Christ  and  all  I  am  I  give  to  Him." 

Another  incident  of  my  Manchester  pastorate  concerns 
a  gentleman  and  his  five  sons,  varying  from  fourteen  to 
six  years  of  age.  It  was  a  stalwart  and  striking  group, 
handsomely  dressed,  bright-faced  and  with  a  look  of  good 
bearing.  Naturally  I  thought  what  a  hopeful  addition 
that  quintette  of  boys  would  be  to  my  Sunday-school ; 
but  we  passed  each  other  without  speech.  Several  times 
afterwards  on  Sunday  afternoons  I  encountered  this  gen- 
tleman with  the  boys,  always  wondering  who  they  were, 
and  with  a  silent  wish  to  know  something  about  them. 
Finally  while  strolling  along  the  street  in  company  with 
one  of  my  church-members  I  saw  that  same  group  of 
alert  and  attractive  lads. 

^'Just  look,"  I  said,  ^^  can't  we  corral  those  boys  for 
our  Sunday-school  ?  " 

'  ^  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  ' '  asked  my  friend. 
^'You  will  never  get  those  boys.  Their  father  is  the 
most  blatant  and  defiant  infidel  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
He  scorns  the  Bible,  hates  the  church  and  would  think  it 
a  disgrace  for  his  boys  to  enter  the  Sunday-school." 

This  strong  statement  extinguished  my  hopes.  I  saw 
no  way  of  bringing  the  boys  under  Christian  influence 
and  dismissed  the  case  from  my  mind. 

Quite  a  while  after  that  I  heard  a  violent  ring  at  my 
door-bell  very  early  in  the  morning.     I  answered  in  per- 


GOING  AT  IT  83 

son  and  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  the  infidel  at  the 
door.  I  invited  him  in,  but  in  terms  stern  and  scornful 
he  refused  to  enter.  I  then  asked  him  with  mild  courtesy 
if  I  could  serve  him  in  any  way.  He  choked  with  ex- 
citement and  whirling  on  his  feet  he  walked  hastily  to 
the  end  of  the  veranda  and  stood  there  quite  a  while,  evi- 
dently seekiug  to  recover  his  self-control.  Presently  he 
came  back  much  embarrassed  and  decidedly  snappish 
and  curt  in  his  manner. 

^'  I  wish  you  would  go  around  to  my  house,"  he  said, 
in  jerky  and  grudgiug  words.  "  My  boy  Frank  is  sick 
and  has  been  begging  for  two  or  three  days  that  I  would 
come  around  and  get  you  to  come  to  see  him."  I  told 
him  that  I  would  come  with  pleasure  and  would  be 
around  in  a  little  while. 

Frank's  mother  met  me  in  the  parlor  and  took  me  up 
to  the  boy's  room.  As  I  entered  the  little  fellow  struggled 
up  on  to  his  elbow  and  gave  me  a  most  pathetic  welcome. 
In  his  sunken,  burniug  cheek,  his  large,  wearied  eyes  and 
his  wasted  form  I  saw  that  he  was  not  far  from  the  gate 
of  death.  I  greeted  him  cheerfully,  telling  him  how 
pleased  I  was  that  he  wanted  to  see  me  and  assured  him 
that  I  would  be  glad  for  him  to  talk  to  me  just  as  much 
as  he  desired. 

''They  tell  me,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  getting  better, 
but  I  know  I  am  not.  I  think  I  get  weaker  every  day 
and  I  am  very  sure  that  I  cannot  live."  As  he  said  this 
his  lip  quivered  and  his  look  of  helplessness  and  distress 
almost  broke  my  heart.  ^V^len  he  recovered  speech,  he 
said,  "  I  know  I  will  not  get  well  and  I  am  afraid  to  die." 
This  he  said  in  a  tone  that  I  have  never  forgotten. 

I  told  him  that  there  was  a  way  to  get  ready  to  die, 
and  I  told  him  in  simple  phrase  the  story  of  God's  mercy 
as  brought  to  us  by  Jesus  the  Son.  If  ever  one  time  in 
my  life  I  sought  to  tell  it  well,  that  was  the  time. 


84  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

His  listening  was  oi)prcssive,  but  when  I  finished  he 
told  me  that  he  could  not  understand  what  I  had  said. 

I  went  over  it  again  slowly  and  putting  in  little  illus- 
trations. Almost  every  beat  of  my  heart  was  a  prayer  as 
I  rehearsed  the  story.  He  lay  still  a  Uttle  while  after 
I  finished,  and  then  looking  n^  told  me  again  that  he 
could  not  understand  it.  I  said  something  to  him  about 
prayer,  and  laying  my  arm  gently  over  his  emaciated 
body  I  knelt  by  the  bed  and  pled  that  God  would  bring 
light  and  peace  to  the  troubled  heart  of  the  boy.  When 
I  arose  from  my  knees  he  seemed  almost  ashamed  as  he 
told  me  that  I  must  excuse  him.  He  said  that  they  did 
not  talk  about  those  things  at  home, — his  father  wouldn't 
allow  it,  and  that  I  must  not  think  hard  because  he  could 
not  understand.  I  prayed  briefly  again,  and  he  said  that 
he  hoped  I  would  come  back  again  after  a  while  and 
that  he  would  think  it  over  while  I  was  gone. 

I  called  again  in  the  early  afternoon  of  that  day.  As  I 
entered  his  room  he  sprang  up  in  bed,  resting  himself  on 
his  elbow,  and  welcomed  me  with  a  smile  that  seemed  to 
have  in  it  the  peace  and  joy  of  heaven.  He  took  my 
hand  and  looked  at  me  with  triumphant  light  on  his  face 
and  said,  '^I  understand,  I  understand  !  " 

I  drew  him  into  speech,  and  my  wonder  was  boundless 
as  he  revealed  to  me  his  surprising  apprehension  of  the 
truth.  His  spiritual  perception  was  incredible.  Surely 
he  had  seen  the  face  of  God  and  was  walking  in  the  path 
of  life  with  joyous  step.  It  was  all  new  to  him  and  clear, 
and  he  told  out  his  experiences  in  a  manner  so  simple 
and  so  full  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  doubt. 

"When  I  was  leaving  he  drew  me  down  and  in  a  sort  of 
exultant  whisper  he  said,  ' '  Now  that  I  understand  I  want 
to  tell  you  that  I  am  not  afraid.'' 

After  breakfast  the  next  morning  I  called  around  to 
look  after  my  little  convert.     It  hurt  me  to  the  centre  of 


GOING  AT  IT  85 

my  heart  to  find  the  crape  on  the  door.  I  knew  at  once 
what  it  meant.  The  mother,  herself  utterly  destitute  of 
Christian  hope,  met  me  in  the  parlor  and  could  only  sob 
out  the  anguish  of  her  bereavement.  I  knew  no  word  to 
comfort  her  with,  and  I  did  not  attempt  it.  I  thought 
possibly  it  might  ease  the  burden  of  her  soul  if  I  could 
put  her  to  talking  about  Frank,  and  besides  I  was  anx- 
ious to  hear.  So  I  asked  her  to  tell  me  the  particulars  of 
his  death. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  do  it,"  she  said  with  an  almost  defiant 
emphasis.  It  puzzled  me  lest  I  had  ventured  too  near  to 
the  seat  of  her  sorrow.  I  spoke  in  terms  apologetic,  as- 
suming that  I  had  infringed  upon  the  secrets  of  her 
sorrow. 

*^  Not  that.  It  does  not  embarrass  me  to  talk  about  it, 
but  I  thought  I  would  never  say  anything  about  it,  be- 
cause I  thought  people  would  never  believe  it.  But  I 
suppose  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

"After  my  talk  with  Frank  yesterday  afternoon,"  I 
said  softly,  "I  could  believe  anything  wonderful  that  you 
might  tell  me  about  Frank's  last  hours." 

Thus  encouraged  she  told  the  story,  with  hesitation  at 
first,  but  rose  with  the  telling  until  she  was  evidently 
inspired  and  gladdened  by  it. 

"I  was  sitting  with  Frank  last  night,"  she  commenced, 
"about  ten  o'clock,  when  he  said,  'Mother,  God  would 
not  allow  me  to  die  until  I  had  a  chance.  I  think  I 
would  have  died  before  if  God  hadn't  pitied  me,  but  He 
has  heard  my  cry  and  saved  me,  and  I  expect  to  die 
to-night.^  I  spoke  lightly  to  him  and  said  that  I  thought 
he  would  soon  be  walking  about  with  his  brothers  as  be- 
fore. 'No,  mother,'  he  said  with  decision,  'don't  say  it. 
I  want  you  to  wake  me  up  to-night  about  one  o'clock. 
When  two  o'clock  comes  to-night  I  expect  to  go.'  I  had 
no  intention  to  wake  him  up,  but  a  little  after  one  he 


86  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

roused  up  and  inquired  the  time.  When  I  reluctantly 
told  him  the  time  he  begged  hard  that  I  would  wake  his 
father  and  brothers.  I  sought  vainly  to  i:)ut  him  off,  but 
I  was  forced  to  yield.  When  they  came  he  spoke  to  his 
brothers  one  by  one,  simply  bidding  them  good-bye,  but 
when  he  came  to  his  father  he  said  things  that  I  could 
never  have  supposed  he  would  have  thought  of,  for  they 
had  never  been  talked  about  in  this  house.  '  Father,'  he 
said,  'I  found  that  I  could  not  die  your  way.  The 
thought  of  death  made  me  awfully  afraid.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  was  going  to  another  country  and  that  they 
would  not  treat  me  right  when  I  got  there.  I  was  afraid 
to  go.  That  was  the  reason  that  I  begged  you  to  get  the 
minister  to  come  to  see  me.  I  thought  there  must  be  a 
God  and  I  was  afraid  to  meet  Him,  and  I  wanted  to 
know  about  it.  It  was  hard  for  me  to  take  it  in.  He 
had  to  tell  it  to  me  over  and  over  again.  But  when  I 
saw  that  there  was  a  Saviour  and  put  myself  in  His  keep- 
ing, I  stopped  being  afraid. '  It  was  strange  to  see  him 
so  calm  and  so  well  satisfied.  He  bade  his  father  good- 
bye and  kissed  him  as  if  parting  for  the  night.  We  did 
not  take  it  so  seriously,  for  we  did  not  think  that  he  was 
really  near  to  death.  My  husband  and  the  boys  went 
back  up-stairs,  and  he  told  me  to  kiss  him  good-night 
and  I  began  to  read  and  continued  until  the  clock  struck 
two.  I  looked  up  and  saw  his  hands  clasped  on  his 
breast ;  I  went  to  his  side,  touched  him,  but  he  moved 
not,  called  him,  but  he  made  no  reply.  He  went  at  two, 
as  he  said  he  would." 

He  had  a  Christian  funeral  and  the  savor  of  his  faith 
was  left  in  the  home.  Salvation  came  to  some  members 
of  the  family,  but  not  to  the  father. 

One  of  the  distinct  and  bitter  impoverishments  of  the 
Civil  War  was  the  lack  of  literature.     Few  newspapers 


GOING  AT  IT  87 

and  no  magazines  were  published  in  the  South.  Sunday- 
school  books,  hymn-books,  Bibles,  tracts  could  be  had 
neither  for  love  nor  money,  and  all  the  reading  matter  of 
a  literary  sort  for  the  armies  consisted  in  books  given  out 
of  private  families  or  private  libraries.  The  Bible  was 
highly  prized  in  camp,  but  in  the  later  part  of  the  war 
there  were  the  scantiest  supplies.  Indeed  it  was  at- 
tempted, successfully  I  believe,  to  bring  through  the 
blockade  Bibles  and  Testaments,  and  the  demand  for  them 
was  extremely  pathetic.  I  recall  that  on  a  Sunday  night 
all  the  Baptist  congregations  in  and  around  Eichmond 
united  in  a  mass  meeting  with  the  view  of  raising  money 
to  purchase  reading  matter  for  our  soldiers  in  the  camp. 
It  was  a  memorably  impressive  meeting.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  I  ever  saw  Dr.  J.  L.  M.  Curry,  and  he  made  the 
long  address  of  the  evening.  He  was  then  in  his  prime, 
not  a  gray  hair  in  his  head, — compact,  alert  and  im- 
perial in  form  and  face.  His  address  was  a  masterpiece 
of  fervent  and  thrilling  eloquence.  The  money  of  the 
time  was  of  bountiful  bulk  but  of  scant  worth,  but  it  was 
all  that  the  people  had  and  it  stood  even  with  the  better- 
to-do  as  the  price  for  the  stern  necessities  of  life. 

Under  the  appeal  of  the  hour  the  money  poured  in  to 
the  surprise  of  everybody.  Almost  every  giver  made  an 
offering  with  the  moving  thought  of  some  one  in  the 
army  dear  to  his  heart. 

A  number  made  thank-offerings, — something  pleasing 
indeed  in  those  days  of  bloody  battles,  lost  fortunes  and 
broken  hearts.  One  man  made  a  thank-offering  because 
his  son  had  passed  unscathed  through  many  battles,  and 
a  woman  made  an  offering  as  a  token  of  her  gratitude 
that  her  son  had  been  converted  in  the  army.  The  tide 
of  feeling  was  high  and  the  souls  of  men  enlarged.  A 
young  chaplain  from  one  of  the  hospitals  in  Manchester 
arose  and  asked  the  privilege  of  making  a  thank-offering. 


88  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

I  knew  him  well.  He  was  a  South  Carolinian,  a  warm- 
hearted, scholarly  young  man  and  animated  by  the  loftiest 
Christian  spirit.  He  said,  ''  Mr.  Chairman  (he  was  quite 
far  back  in  the  house),  I  desire  to  make  a  thank-offering 
to  God  in  view  of  the  conversion  of  my  two  soldier 
brothers." 

Some  one, — I  think  it  was  Dr.  Curry, — said  to  him 
publicly,  "Tell  us  about  it,"  but  he  seemed  reluctant  to 
respond.  But  finally  he  arose  with  a  sort  of  embarrassed 
smile  on  his  face  and  said  : 

"My  brothers  are  not  converted,  but  I  have  prayed  for 
them  and  believe  they  will  be  and  I  thought  I  would 
make  my  thank-offering  in  advance."  It  was  finely  said 
and  the  incident  closed. 

Time  sped  away,  but  the  memory  of  the  young  chap- 
lain's significant  utterance  kept  warm  in  my  heart. 

One  morning  I  was  in  my  study  at  the  church  when  I 
heard  a  quick  step  of  some  one  coming  around  to  my 
door.  There  was  a  knock  and  then  the  door  flew  open. 
In  sprang  the  young  South  Carolinian  joyously  waving 
a  letter.  "Here  it  is,"  he  said;  "I  have  gotten  my 
first  installment.  Here  is  a  letter  telling  me  of  the  con- 
version of  my  younger  brother.  Truly  it  is  good  to  trust 
in  God." 

We  had  quite  a  time  of  rejoicing  together  and  the 
young  man  went  away.  Not  long  after  that  came  the 
battle  of  Gettysburg.  Ah,  that  terrific,  destructive 
slaughter  !  It  hung  crape  upon  thousands  of  Southern 
doors.  It  put  many  a  mother  in  an  untimely  grave  and 
whitened  the  hair  of  middle-aged  fathers  who  mourned 
the  death  of  their  first-born.  It  sounded  the  death  knell 
of  the  Southern  cause  and  bent  the  spirit  of  the  incom- 
parable Lee  under  the  weight  of  its  disaster. 

Another  morning  found  me  in  my  study  and  I  heard 
the  step  as  of  an  old  man  moving  slowly  around  to  my 


GOING  AT  IT  89 

door.  There  was  a  dull  knock  and  opening  the  door  I 
found  the  young  chaplain.  He  looked  like  another  man, 
— pinched,  old,  and  aimless — his  eyes  were  glass  ;  his 
face  ashes  and  dumbness  held  his  lips.  '^Oh,"  he  said 
as  I  drew  him  in  the  room,  *Hhe  waves  are  over  me  and 
the  light  is  refused  to  me.  It  looks  as  if  I  have  trusted 
in  God  in  vain."  Slowly  and  silently  he  handed  me  a 
letter.  It  was  from  a  young  man  whom  he  knew  telling 
how  that  he  and  the  chaplain's  brother  were  in  the  charge 
oil  Cemetery  Hill  j  how  the  brother  was  stricken  down  by 
the  fragment  of  a  shell,  mortally  wounded,  as  the  young 
friend  thought,  how  the  kind  fellow  told  of  giving  his 
canteen  filled  with  water  to  the  wounded  one,  and  sought 
to  place  him  in  a  resting  way  and  hastened  on  in  the 
deadly  charge. 

The  letter  did  not  say  but  it  seemed  to  imply  that  the 
case  of  the  wounded  brother  was  hopeless,  and  I  found 
myself  stricken,  confounded  and  worthless  as  a  comforter. 
He  lingered  quite  a  while  and  when  he  left  it  was  a  relief 
to  me.  For  days  I  think  the  mournful  spell  of  that  in- 
terview was  upon  me.  I  dared  not  call  on  the  chaplain, 
for  I  had  no  message  of  consolation.  One  morning  some 
time  after  I  heard  what  I  supposed  to  be  a  boy  dash  up 
to  the  door  and  without  a  signal  he  sprang  through  the 
opening  doorway.  It  was  the  chaplain.  Eapture  lit  his 
face  and  broke  in  exultant  strains  from  his  lips. 

''The  second  installment,"  he  cried.  ''Eead  it,  read 
it."  He  handed  me  a  letter,  but  before  I  could  open  it 
he  said  :  ''  My  older  brother  is  alive.  He  is  in  a  Phila- 
delphia hospital,  and  they  write  that  he  will  get  well  and, 
what  is  still  better,  he  is  converted.  I  did  not  trust  in 
vain.     '  He  that  believeth  shall  not  be  confounded.'  " 

In  some  way  I  got  an  idea  from  this  incident  that 
gratitude  and  trust  are  apt  to  get  from  the  Lord  all  that 
is  wanted  and  almost  without  asking  for  it. 


VI 

SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES 

DURIjSTG  all  of  the  four  years  of  the  Confederate 
war  my  lot  was  cast  in  the  town  of  Manchester, 
just  across  James  Eiver,  from  the  city  of  Eich- 
mond,  the  capital  of  the  Confederate  government.  In- 
deed I  was  there  during  the  ominous  brooding  of  the 
strife.  I  saw  that  memorable  Convention — to  be  known 
forever  as  the  Secession  Convention — in  all  of  its  period 
of  tumultuous  uproar.  I  sat  in  the  gallery  and  marked 
its  hesitation,  its  divisions,  the  clash  and  wrangle  of  the 
mighty  men,  the  sublime  effort  of  Union  sentiment  to 
avert  the  fatal  split,  the  passion  and  fury  of  the  seceders, 
and  then,  after  the  decisive  shot  at  Fort  Sumter,  I  saw 
the  dread  and  desperation  with  which  the  final  act  of 
separation  was  passed. 

I  saw  the  iniDouring  of  Southern  troops,  regiment  after 
regiment,  battalion  after  battalion,  company  after  com- 
pany, as  they  gathered  from  every  portion  of  the  South  to 
make  up  that  imperishable  army  already  gone  into  his- 
tory as  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia. 

I  saw  Beauregard,  the  hero  of  Charleston,  and  the 
first  leader  of  the  Southern  troops  as  he  entered  the 
Southern  capital.  I  witnessed  the  coming  of  the  Confed- 
erate government  from  Montgomery  to  Richmond — saw 
Jefferson  Davis,  whose  classic  face  flamed  with  patriotic 
fire  as  he  received  the  greeting  and  heard  the  shoutings 
of  the  Richmond  people. 

Ah,  what  was  it,  of  battle,  or  tragedy,  or  victory,  or 
suffering,  or  destitution,  or  wreck,  that  I  did  not  see  dur- 

90 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  91 

ing  those  pregnant  and  historic  years  !  Thrice  I  sat  on 
my  porch  in  Manchester  and  heard  the  roar  of  artillery 
and  the  rattle  of  musketry  as  battles  raged  along  the 
Chickahominy  or  boomed  around  the  heights  of  Drewry's 
Bluff.  Ofttimes  victory  spread  her  banners  over  Eich- 
mond  and  there  were  many  days  when  cheeriness  and 
triumph  gladdened  the  city.  Indeed  we  were  fed  on  vic- 
tories until  we  thought  that  Lee  and  his  legions  were  in- 
vincible. Hope  sprang  ever- blooming  in  our  breasts, 
and  to  the  last  we  felt  that  in  some  way  the  Southern 
standard  was  yet  to  wave  in  victory  over  us.  It  looks 
strange  indeed  now  that  we  could  have  felt  so,  and  yet  so 
we  felt,  and  were  trustful  and  serene. 

A  fairer  day  never  blessed  the  earth  than  was  the 
second  day  of  April,  1865.  It  was  the  Sabbath  day,  and 
its  reverential  hush,  and  its  soft  spring  light  seemed  close 
akin  to  worship.  What  added  a  delicious  charm  was  the 
fact  that  the  spring  was  exceptionally  forward  and  the 
signs  of  green,  white  and  blue  were  visible  in  garden  and 
in  field.  That  afternoon  I  went  up  to  the  church  to  some 
sort  of  religious  service.  After  it  was  over,  several  of  us 
lingered  on  the  green  grass  of  the  churchyard,  and 
chatted  and  laughed  as  was  our  happy  wont.  True 
enough  our  situation  was  pitiable  even  to  tragedy.  Our 
clothing  was  worn  and  darned,  our  food  was  mean  and 
scant,  our  schools  were  shut  up,  our  children  could  hardly 
find  covering  for  their  nakedness,  nor  bread  to  meet  the 
cry  of  hunger,  but  in  spite  of  it  all  we  were  expecting  the 
war  to  end  entirely  our  way,  and  dreamed  of  regal  glory 
for  the  South.  At  about  that  time  a  man,  moving  at 
rapid  pace,  passed  along  the  street,  and  when  quite  near 
to  us  said  without  slackening  his  gait  :  *'  Bad  news 
from  Petersburg !  Lee's  lines  were  broken  to-day  and 
his  army  is  reported  in  full  retreat !  Richmond  to  be 
evacuated  to-night.'' 


92  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

Our  informant  sped  away  as  if  appalled  by  the  story 
which  his  lips  had  told. 

Instant  blackness  covered  the  earth.  A  pain  as  of 
death  shot  through  my  heart,  and  in  that  dread  moment 
I  knew  that  our  cause  was  lost.  The  little  group  on  the 
grass  sprang  to  their  feet  and  scattered  without  a  word. 
Instantly,  and  with  no  distinct  purpose,  I  struck  out  on 
foot  for  Eichmond.  Black  and  repellent  as  the  situation 
seemed  to  be,  I  felt  forced  at  once  to  meet  it.  As  I  was 
neariug  the  toll-house  on  Mayo's  Bridge,  I  met  my  friend, 
Major  Benjamin  Nash,  himself  a  great-hearted  lover  of 
the  South,  who  with  bitterness  of  face,  and  the  look  of 
one  suddenly  grown  old,  confirmed  my  worst  fear,  but 
seemed  to  have  no  heart  to  talk.  In  sheer  desperation  I 
pushed  on,  until  I  was  in  the  city.  The  Sabbath,  shocked 
by  the  confusion,  had  taken  wing  and  only  fright  and 
wreck  ruled  the  hour.  Stores  were  wide  open,  and  men 
were  loading  wagons  and  carts,  and  whipping  rapidly 
away.  Already  loafers  were  in  sight,  eyeing  eagerly  the 
general  collapse  and  wild  to  begin  their  pilfering.  Spec- 
tators looked  on  and  in  mute  anguish  read  in  the  haste 
and  waste  of  the  hour  the  signs  of  the  sujireme  catas- 
trophe. I  pulled  myself  as  far  up  as  the  iron  fence 
around  the  Capitol  Park.  Wagons  rattled  around  the 
Capitol  and  were  fast  filled  with  boxes,  furniture  and 
odds  and  ends,  and  went  hurrying  away,  while  vast  loads 
of  debris  were  dumped  upon  the  ground.  Truly  it  was  a 
sickening  sight.  All  the  sacred  things,  which  Virginia 
had  hidden  in  her  very  bosom,  were  being  ripped  out, 
and  hawked  or  scattered  wildly  on  the  ground.  The 
hour  of  the  despoiler  was  at  hand,  and  I  began  to  realize 
that  I  was  in  a  city  without  a  ruler  except  the  mob,  and 
without  a  law,  except  the  greed  of  the  robber.  Nothing 
hurt  me  worse  than  that  spectacle.  It  melted  my  bones 
and  ate  up  my  strength.     Could  I  have  taken  all  that  was 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  93 

left  at  that  moment  I  should  still  have  felt  myself  a 
pauper.  If  my  country  was  dead,  what  could  I  want 
after  that  ? 

My  walk  back  to  Manchester  withered  me  into  age. 
Not  that  I  was  bitter  towards  the  conqueror  ;  my  thoughts 
were  not  that  way.  It  was  simply  one  colossal  collax)se 
— the  things  which  I  lived  for  and  counted  immutably 
mine  had  sunken  out  of  sight.  I  was  a  man  without  a 
country,  without  a  hope  and  almost  without  God  in  the 
world.  My  leader  was  smitten  ;  my  government  in  flight, 
my  citizenship  perished,  and  my  life  a  thing  for  which 
no  man  cared.  As  for  fear  I  knew  it  not,  except  that 
deadly  harm  might  come  to  those  who  looked  to  me  for 
protection,  and  I  knew  that  I  would  not  be  a  straw's 
worth  between  them  and  danger. 

When  I  reentered  my  town  it  was  truly  another  place. 
The  news  had  swept  the  streets.  Startling  sights  broke 
upon  me  at  every  step.  Men  huddled  in  helpless  groups 
and  felt  that  not  even  the  right  of  self-defense  was  left 
them  ;  women  were  weeping  on  the  porches,  or  else  could 
be  heard  shrieking  behind  their  barred  doors  and  win- 
dows ;  children  were  clinging  to  their  parents  and  beg- 
ging to  be  taken  away,  and  already  unearthly  figures, 
harbingers  pi  an  impending  upheaval,  were  flitting 
through  the  streets. 

As  yet  only  a  dim  sense  of  freedom  struggled  in  the 
breasts  of  the  slaves,  and  a  habit  of  submission  to  au- 
thority still  held  them,  but  with  a  relaxing  grasp.  But  as 
twilight  deepened  into  night  a  swell  of  lawlessness  broke 
all  restraints.  The  back  and  unlighted  streets  began  to 
throb  with  dangerous  excitements.  Kitchens  and  shanties 
filled  speedily  with  negroes  ;  and  their  hysterical  screams, 
their  ribald  dances  and  their  cry  for  vengeance  gave  hell- 
ish terrors  to  the  night. 

The  story  of  that  night  can  never  be  told.     Possibly  I 


94  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

come  nearest  to  a  picture  of  it  in  declaring  that  it  was  a 
night  in  which  there  was  absolutely  no  law.  The  old 
authority  was  gone  and  the  new  had  not  come.  It  was  a 
time  when  only  passion  and  fury  uttered  their  voices, 
and  when  liberty  meant  riot  and  violence.  The  very 
streets  roared  with  shriek  and  curse,  with  howl  and 
menace,  and  with  the  insanity  of  countless  crowds. 
Whispers  of  riotous  gangs  going  forth  for  vengeance,  or 
for  plunder,  filled  the  air,  ran  the  streets,  and  bred  terror 
in  the  hearts  of  women. 

But  heaven  forgot  not  to  be  merciful,  even  that  night. 
All  through  its  hours  the  Southern  army  was  retreating 
through  our  streets,  but  it  was  too  orderly  and  quiet  to 
be  afl'ected  by  the  existing  confusion.  Even  in  the  flight 
of  that  army  the  town  found  its  safety.  It  was  not  long 
after  dark  before  the  head  of  this  retreating  column  be- 
gan its  mournful  march  through  the  town,  and  it  con. 
tinned  practically  until  the  morning  light.  There  was  a 
chastened  cheerfulness  about  these  men.  They  gave  no 
hint  of  fright  and  never  a  mutter  of  discontent.  They 
knew  they  were  abandoning  the  base  of  their  supplies, 
the  citadel  of  their  strength,  and  were  opening  their  rear 
to  overwhelming  forces,  but  through  all  that  night  I 
caught  no  note  of  panic  nor  disloyalty.  Their  passage 
through  the  town  added  unspeakably  to  our  gloom,  for  we 
knew  well  enough  that  with  them  went  out  hope,  and  in 
their  place  would  come  the  conqueror. 

Among  these  retreating  thousands  I  had  a  host  of  ac- 
quaintances. The  line  passed  my  gate  and  at  that  gate  I 
stood  and  bade  my  farewells  to  scores  upon  scores.  In 
this  hurried  story  I  can  give  but  one  example  of  those 
whose  going  out  that  night  made  my  heart  faint.  That 
one  was  John  R.  Bagby,  a  captain  of  artillery,  the  most 
cherished  of  all  my  college  friends,  a  ministerial  student 
who  quit  the  theological  seminary  to  join  the  army  and 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  95 

served  the  full  term  of  the  war.  It  took  only  our  silent 
tears  and  warm  hand-grasp  to  tell  the  anguish  of  our 
parting.  To  both  of  us  the  outlook  was  blackness  itself, 
and  we  parted  as  those  who  should  hardly  meet  again. 

But  we  did  meet  again  and  have  met  a  thousand  times 
since.  He  lives  even  to  this  day,  and  through  all  the 
years  that  are  gone  our  souls  have  been  knit  together ; 
only  death  can  part  us  and  not  even  that  can  part  us  for 
long. 

In  passing  through  the  streets  of  Eichmond  many  of 
the  soldiers  found  that  the  Confederate  authorities  had 
abandoned  a  large  supply  of  food  and  clothing,  and  from 
these  stores  the  boys  helped  themselves  so  far  as  they 
came  in  reach  of  them,  and  so  far  as  they  had  the  means 
of  transporting  them.  On  the  bayonets  of  many  guns 
hung  hams  or  shoulders,  which  these  needy  heroes  were 
lugging  along,  little  knowing  when  Mars'  Eobert  would 
ever  issue  another  ration.  Deep  as  my  troubles  were  I 
was  quite  lumbered  up  with  Confederate  money.  In 
quite  a  number  of  cases  I  found  that  by  generous  display 
of  Confederate  money,  I  could  bring  on  a  trade  for  some 
of  this  bacon,  which  same  thing  I  actually  did,  although 
I  have  to  confess  that  in  some  of  those  trades  the  trans- 
action took  place  before  midnight,  and  if  the  Sabbath 
day  runs  until  midnight  I  have  to  confess  that  on  that 
occasion  at  least  I  let  my  eagerness  to  get  a  little  some- 
thing to  keep  my  soul  and  body  from  prematurely  sepa- 
rating from  each  other  to  tempt  me  to  infringe  the  Holy 
Day. 

Perhaps,  too,  I  might  right  here  slip  in  another  con- 
fession which  may  cast  a  shadow  over  my  integrity.  Not 
long  before  the  fall  of  Eichmond,  General  Eobert  E.  Lee 
borrowed  all  the  flour  from  one  of  the  Eichmond  mills, 
promising  that  when  his  supplies  came  in  he  would  return 
it.     In  that  lot  of  flour  I  had  a  half  interest  in  four  bar- 


96  ALONG  THE  TEAIL 

rels,  and  with  uo  desire  to  asperse  the  memory  of  Gen- 
eral Lee,  caiHlor  constrains  me  to  say  that  he  never 
returned  my  flour — obviously  because  the  General's  sup- 
ply never  came  in.  The  result  of  it,  however,  was  that  the 
dust  in  my  barrel  was  well-nigh  non-apparent.  I  heard 
on  Monday  morning  that  several  car-loads  of  corn-meal 
had  been  left  in  the  hurry  of  the  retreat,  at  a  station  in 
Manchester,  just  two  squares  from  my  house.  Inasmuch 
as  General  Lee  had  failed  me  on  the  borrowed  flour,  and 
inasmuch  as  this  corn-meal  could  never  be  of  any  service 
to  the  fleeing  Confederacy,  and  inasmuch  as  I  knew  it 
did  not  belong  to  the  Federal  army,  and  inasmuch  as 
one  of  my  church- members  agreed  that  he  would  bring 
me  a  bag  or  two  of  it  to  help  me  tide  over  the  distress  of 
the  times,  I  did  give  place  to  a  couple  of  bags  of  about  as 
coarse  a  quality  of  meal  as  I  ever  undertook  to  use  in 
my  life.  It  was  quite  fortunate  for  the  Federal  army  that 
I  did  confiscate  the  meal,  for  two  of  its  commissioned 
officers  came  to  my  house  to  dinner  one  day,  and  the  only 
thing  in  the  world  that  I  had  to  give  them  to  eat  was  the 
bacon  I  bought  on  Sunday,  and  meal  that  I  got  possession 
of  on  Monday,  not  accordiug  to  law,  nor  contrary  to  law, 
but  because  there  was  no  law  on  duty  at  that  time. 

In  the  gray  of  Monday  morning  I  was  called  to  my 
gate  where  I  found  a  Confederate  major  of  cavalry.  He 
turned  out  to  be  a  schoolmate  of  my  childhood  in  the 
mountains  of  old  Bedford.  He  was  accounted  the  poorest 
boy  in  all  the  school,  though  several  of  us  were  easy  sec- 
onds, and  he  was  also  considered  the  most  promising  boy 
in  the  school,  though  in  that  case  very  few  of  us  were 
ever  mentioned  for  second  place.  He  made  a  fine  war 
record  and  my  heart  swelled  with  pride  to  see  him  again. 
Indeed  I  would  have  had  anotherracute  mixture  of  satis- 
faction and  sorrow  in  seeing  him  but  for  one  unfriendly 
fact.     My  old  time  chum  had  a  roll  of  Confederate  jeans 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  97 

balanced  on  the  neck  of  his  horse,  almost  three  feet  in 
height  and  utterly  concealing  him  from  view  except  his 
rugged  and  war-worn  face.  I  knew  him  at  sight  and 
gave  him  the  glad  hand.  I  did  not  doubt  but  that  he 
and  his  tattered  battalion  needed  better  equipment,  and 
I  must  not  disparage  his  provident  expedient  for  helping 
them  out,  but  I  must  own  that  my  sense  of  the  heroic  got 
a  shock.  It  crossed  my  grain  to  see  this  friend  of  my 
boyhood  at  such  a  critical  time  loaded  with  a  spoil  so 
ponderous  and  unwieldy.  Besides  it  was  out  of  all 
harmony  with  the  tragic  glory  of  that  night  to  see  a  Con- 
federate officer  with  a  trophy  so  ludicrous.  The  sight 
hit  me  in  three  or  four  different  spots  and  made  an  im- 
pression so  complex  that  I  have  not  quit-e  recovered  from 
it  yet. 

During  that  fateful  night  troops  of  the  townsmen  flocked 
to  my  house — not  members  of  my  church  only  but  many 
citizens.  Some  came  to  tell  me  of  the  terrors  of  their 
families  ;  some  to  discuss  the  impending  peril ;  some 
drawn  by  an  inherent  longing  for  sympathy  ;  some  to 
confer  as  to  how  we  should  bear  ourselves  when  the  con- 
quering enemy  came  in.  Not  a  few  others  from  more 
exposed  quarters  of  the  town  came  to  share  the  indirect 
guardianship  of  the  passing  soldiery.  Taken  altogether 
that  was  the  most  eventful  night  of  my  mortal  life,  at 
once  the  longest  and  the  shortest,  the  night  most  crowded 
with  fears,  conflicts  and  strains,  and  one  which  seemed  so 
loaded  with  omens  of  evil. 

One  odd  and  abhorrent  incident  of  that  night  still 
clings  tenaciously  to  my  memory.  It  was  out  of  tune 
with  other  horrors,  and  in  some  respects  to  me  the  worst 
horror  of  it  all.  There  lived  in  the  town  a  miser.  It 
was  what  I  saw  in  him  that  enabled  me  to  understand 
what  the  Bible  means  when  it  says  that  covetousness  is 
idolatry.     He  was  a  man  who  had  rare  chances  for  mak- 


98  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

ing  a  worthy  manhood  ;  he  married  a  woman  of  the  most 
refined  and  earnest  nature,  and  his  opportunities  for  use- 
fulness were  a  great  appeal  to  any  good  that  might  be  in 
him,  but  his  love  of  money  was  wild,  ungovernable,  in- 
sane. It  overrode  his  conscience,  his  self-respect,  his 
love  of  home  and  his  beliefs  in  all  thiDgs  invisible.  Once 
I  went  with  him  to  bury  his  son  and  all  the  way  to  the 
cemetery  he  arrayed  himself  against  God  for  the  death  of 
his  boy,  said  it  was  unnecessary  and  that  it  would  have 
been  so  much  better  if  the  boy  could  have  stayed  to  go 
in  business  and  to  have  shared  in  the  boundless  revenues 
of  the  future.  During  the  war  he  had  no  patriotism,  no 
pride  for  the  Southern  side,  no  concern  as  to  the  final 
issue  of  things,  except  so  far  as  it  would  affect  his  own 
fortune.  He  seized  the  disorders  of  the  times  as  his  op- 
portunity for  oppressing  the  weak,  cheating  the  unwary 
and  fleecing  all  comers.  In  that  dread,  woeful  night  this 
cankered  and  repellent  creature  came  into  my  house.  A 
scourged  spaniel  could  not  have  seemed  more  dejected, 
frightened  or  horrified  than  he.  He  was  shrivelled 
almost  out  of  human  shape,  his  eyes  were  wild  with 
despair,  he  shrank  down  or  collapsed  in  a  shapeless  pile 
at  my  feet,  and  my  pity  fought  with  my  contempt  as  he 
told  his  story.  During  the  war,  as  he  told  me  in  mortal 
fright,  lest  some  one  might  overhear  the  story,  he  had 
turned  everything  that  his  hand  could  touch  into  gold, 
and  had  quite  an  accumulation  of  it  hidden  in  his  house. 
In  the  dread  that  the  inflamed  soldiery  would  invade  his 
house  and  carry  off  his  treasures,  he  came  to  ask  me 
what  he  must  do  with  his  money.  I  felt  pity  enough  for 
him  to  hear  his  story  and  advised  him  to  take  it  out  of 
town  into  the  depths  of  a  neighboring  forest  and  bury  it. 
I  told  him  that  he  did  not  need  to  be  afraid,  for  his  safety 
would  be  in  the  prevailing  terror  and  disorganization  of 
the  night.     He  told  me  afterwards  that  he  acted  on  my 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  99 

suggestion  and  almost  grew  interesting  as  he  gave  the 
account  of  his  trip,  his  entering  the  desolate  forest,  his 
opening  of  the  earth  and  his  burial  of  the  heavy  jar  of 
gold.  ^Yhat  hui't  me  most  in  dealing  with  this  case  was 
that  I  saw  in  the  form  of  a  man  nothing  of  the  man  left 
except  a  victory  of  Mammon.  He  cared  not  for  the  fall 
of  a  friend  nor  the  coming  of  a  foe,  nor  for  the  safety  of 
his  children,  nor  for  the  lives  of  his  neighbors.  There 
was  nothing  in  all  the  universe  of  God  for  him  to  love  or 
cherish  except  his  gold.  And  yet  after  all  I  must  do 
him  justice,  and  I  may  be  able  yet  to  speak  a  word  that 
may  soften  the  bitterness  of  his  case.  In  a  few  days 
things  settled  down  ;  he  found  his  home  was  not  to  be 
troubled,  and  in  his  own  crafty  way  he  brought  his 
money  back  to  his  house,  and  one  day  to  my  unspeakable 
surprise  he  walked  into  my  house  looking  almost  human, 
with  the  ghost  of  a  long  departed  smile  on  his  face,  and  a 
semblance  of  gratitude  on  his  lips,  and  handed  me  a  ten 
dollar  gold  piece.  I  had  an  impulse  to  throw  it  back  at 
him,  but  the  several  ladies  of  my  household  chanced  to 
be  on  hand,  and  it  had  been  long  indeed  since  they  had 
seen  the  shine  of  gold,  and,  moreover,  there  were  many 
pretty  things  flaming  in  the  store-windows,  which  only 
gold  could  buy,  and  after  all  the  miser's  gold  was  hospi- 
tably welcomed  in  the  minister's  house. 

That  spasm  of  appreciation  I  grieve  to  say  was  not 
prophetic  of  any  reformation  on  his  part.  In  after  days 
I  used  to  meet  him  often  wrapped  in  a  heavy  cloak,  bent 
of  back,  scared  of  eye,  loathsome,  crafty  and  cowering 
beneath  a  nameless  dread. 

The  dawn  of  Monday  was  rich  in  the  splendors  of  spring. 
It  looked  as  if  night  had  thrown  its  friendly  mantle  over 
my  heroic  brothers  as  they  hastened  out  of  the  city  to 
rally  again  beneath  the  standard  of  Lee.  The  day  was 
cloudless  and  the  air  was  soft  and  genial,  and  yet  the 


100  ALONG  THE  TKAIL 

light  only  increased  our  apprehensions.  Our  friends 
were  gone  and  now  we  knew  that  the  conqueror  was  at 
the  gate. 

About  nine  in  the  morning  I  was  down  at  the  Man- 
chester end  of  the  bridge  and  saw  the  rear- guard  of  the 
Southern  troops  as  they  crossed  over.  As  soon  as  the 
tramp  of  their  heavy  feet  quit  the  swaying  structure  I 
heard  a  man  give  the  order  for  setting  fire  to  the  bridge. 
I  quickly  glanced  towards  the  man  who  spoke  the  word 
and  it  was  General  Ewell,  one  of  the  famous  Southern 
commanders.  He  had  already  lost  a  leg  in  the  service, 
and  he  had  the  stern,  hard  look  of  the  man  who  had  made 
great  adventures  and  had  lost  all.  I  honored  him  be- 
cause he  looked  so  honestly  wretched,  for  I  thought  that 
woe  was  eminently  becoming  every  Southern  man  on  that 
bitter  day.  I  made  a  revel  of  my  misery  that  morning 
and  it  was  indeed  a  feast  of  bitter  herbs. 

If  my  memory  does  not  go  awry  the  last  man  to  cross 
James  Eiver  on  that  bridge  was  John  C.  Breckenridge, 
one  of  Kentucky's  imperial  sons.  He  sat  his  horse  in 
gloomy  dignity,  and  a  finer  specimen  of  knightly  beauty 
rarely  ever  graced  the  earth.  It  was  no  time  for  admira- 
tion, and  it  bent  me  to  the  dust  to  see  such  a  king  among 
men  so  shattered  with  adversity,  so  stripped  of  place  and 
power,  and  yet  my  heart  paid  court  to  him  as  one  who 
had  given  all  to  the  cause  he  loved. 

Simultaneously  with  the  firing  of  Mayo's  Bridge  the 
torch  was  applied  also  to  the  bridges  of  the  Eichmond 
and  Danville,  and  the  Eichmond  and  Petersburg  rail- 
roads. This  clipped  all  connection  between  the  two 
cities,  and  seriously  delayed  the  Federal  troops  in  their 
pursuit  of  the  flying  squadrons  of  the  South.  It  also 
seriously  enhanced  the  concern  and  the  apprehension  of 
the  Manchester  people. 

From  these  bridges  the  fires]  quickly  spread  to  the 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  101 

warehouses  and  other  buildings  along  the  river,  and  in- 
deed some  of  the  warehouses  were  needlessly  fired  by  our 
men.  These  fires  were  the  lurid  forerunners  of  that  fear- 
ful conflagration,  which  lasted  for  twenty-four  hours, 
and  laid  in  ashes  the  great  bulk  of  the  business  portions 
of  the  city.  For  the  time  the  fire  department  of  Eich- 
mond  was  non-existent,  the  water- works  were  grievously 
out  of  order,  and  the  Federal  forces  were  put  at  a  great 
disadvantage  in  seeking  to  arrest  the  flames.  It  was  one 
of  the  mercies  of  heaven  that  there  was  no  wind,  and  the 
flames  were  not  able  in  many  places  even  to  cross  the 
streets,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  grateful  wonder  that  the 
entire  city  was  not  laid  in  ashes. 

From  the  Manchester  side  the  fire  was  in  full  view  and 
our  hearts  sank  very  low  as  we  saw  block  after  block  go 
down.  Already  our  higher  hopes,  our  hallowed  treasures, 
our  army,  our  leaders  and  our  cause  were  gone  ;  and  it 
was  the  very  anguish  of  despair  to  feel  that  the  city 
itself,  the  pride  of  Virginia  and  of  the  South,  was  about 
to  be  blotted  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  was  one 
glimmer  of  relief  which  came  later  on  that  the  city,  in  a 
large  measure,  was  left  standing,  but  standing  in  the 
midst  of  vast  ruins,  standing  desolate  without  the  song 
of  the  toiler  or  the  laughter  of  children.  Be  it  said  that 
for  days  and  weeks,  women  rarely  appeared  on  the 
streets,  and  the  bustle  and  stimulating  noise  of  business 
was  gone.  At  the  foundry,  at  which  the  munitions,  and 
especially  the  ammunitions  of  war  were  manufactured, 
there  were,  according  to  common  report,  seven  hundred 
thousand  shells  piled  in  great  masses.  The  heat  of  the 
flames  during  the  later  morning  of  Monday  ignited  the  fuses 
of  these  monster  balls  and  such  an  explosion  followed  as 
possibly  never  shook  the  earth  before.  The  power  of  it 
crashed  the  windows  in  hundreds  of  Eichmond  houses, 
and  the  fragments  of  the  broken  shells  went  far  and  wide, 


102  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

damaging  roofs,  filliDg  many  homes  with  consternation, 
and  in  a  number  of  cases  wounding  and  killing  persons 
on  the  streets.  The  bridges  in  full  flame  and  long 
ranges  of  houses  wraj^ped  in  fire,  and  the  volcanic  smoke 
boiling  up  and  spreading  over  the  city  and  that  too 
amid  the  explosion  of  shells,  made  a  scene  so  varied,  so 
direful,  and  so  destructive  that  men  and  women  turned 
away  in  terror. 

In  1862  when  Lee  and  McClellan  were  fighting  on  the 
Chickahomiuy  the  roar  of  their  guns  sensibly  shook  the 
city.  During  one  of  those  days  I  attended  a  public 
meeting  in  one  of  the  churches  of  the  city,  and  the 
thunder  and  rattle  of  the  guns,  though  five  miles  off,  made 
it  impossible  to  conduct  the  service  in  a  way  to  be  heard. 
That  was  nothing  compared  with  the  racking  storm  of 
evacuation  day. 

One  of  the  early  shocks  of  evacuation  morning  was 
caused  by  the  blowing  up  of  the  Confederate  gunboats  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  city.  As  each  huge  monster  was 
blown  into  fragments  the  effect  was  a  distinct  earthquake, 
and  the  fragments  did  vast  damage  by  spreading  fires  and 
crippling  the  people. 

The  situation  in  our  town  was  fearful  enough  on  Mon- 
day morning.  By  this  time  the  negroes  had  lost  all  sense 
of  order  and  control  and  their  acts  of  violence  and  venge- 
ance had  already  begun.  For  my  part  I  felt  deeply  the 
seriousness  of  the  hour.  Already  mutinous  and  un- 
restrained by  any  law  and  joined  by  not  a  few  desperate 
and  rioting  whites  they  seemed  ready  for  murder.  They 
were  surging  up  and  down  the  streets  shouting,  singing, 
flinging  vulgar  insults  at  the  white  people,  and  indulging 
in  hideous  and  unseemly  displays  that  filled  the  town 
with  alarm  and  terror. 

I  took  it  on  myself  to  confer  with  the  members  of  the 
town  council.     They  were  with  few  exceptions  old  men 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  103 

utterly  unequal  to  the  grave  exigencies  of  the  hour  and 
apparently  terror-stricken  to  the  point  of  despair.  I 
called  their  attention  to  the  situation  and  suggested  that 
they  send  a  committee  across  the  river  and  ask  for  a 
guard  from  the  Federal  army.  They  looked  as  if  they 
dreamed;  nerveless  and  vacant  they  sat,  and  in  a  way 
repelled  the  idea  that  anything  could  be  done.  But 
there  was  some  spirit  in  the  young  member  of  the  coun- 
cil, and  he  joined  me  in  the  appeal.  Finally  one  of  them 
reached  the  happy  stage  of  suggesting  that  I  should  un- 
dertake the  mission  to  Eichmond,  and  as  soon  as  they 
said  it  the  young  member  of  the  body  with  modest  cour- 
age proposed  that  he  and  I  should  go  together.  It  was  a 
heavenly  relief  to  the  bewildered  council,  but  an  awk- 
ward undertaking  for  us.  I  must  say  that  I  plucked  a 
little  consolation  from  the  fact  that  those  timid  and 
limp  old  gentlemen  looked  a  good  deal  worse  than  I  knew 
that  I  felt,  but  there  was  scant  time  for  comparing  my 
anxieties  with  those  of  any  one  else.  And  so  in  company 
with  the  youngest  member  of  that  council,  ever  after- 
wards a  gentleman  and  friend  in  my  eyes,  we  set  out  on 
our  hazardous  journey.  We  took  with  us  the  good  wishes 
and  indeed  the  admiration  of  the  councilmen.  We  went 
down  to  the  river  edge  and  luckily  discovered  a  lazy 
little  ferry-boat  fastened  to  the  bank  close  by  one  of  the 
flour  mills.  It  was  not  our  boat,  but  we  paused  not  to 
tamper  with  abstract  ethical  problems,  but  at  once  and 
unscrupulously  confiscated  the  frail  bark.  It  rocked  and 
dipped  as  we  headed  across  the  stream,  and  there  was  a 
good  probability  that  this  brace  of  adventurers  would 
find  a  watery  grave  and  speedy  oblivion. 

Happily  we  reached  the  Eichmond  side,  found  a  fast- 
ening and  hiding-place  for  our  boat,  and  climbed  out  on 
the  bank  to  find  ourselves  in  the  wholesale  business  part 
of  the  city.     Our  eyes  fell  upon  such  a  sight  as  perhaps 


104  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

few  have  ever  dreamed  of.  I  hardly  know  what  to  call  it. 
Not  a  mob.  We  think  of  a  mob  as  a  collection  of  men 
drawn  together  by  some  common  object,  molded  into 
transient  unity  by  a  deadly  purpose,  and  set  on  doing 
their  minds,  regardless  of  hazard  or  law.  The  crowd 
which  we  encountered,  as  it  straggled,  shrieked,  danced, 
cursed  and  contended  with  each  other,  was  thoroughly 
heterogeneous.  Its  only  point  in  common  was  the  un- 
mitig  ted  badness  of  all  of  its  individual  parts.  The 
convulsion  had  emptied  the  underworld  on  top  of  the 
ground,  and  in  that  revolting  mass  were  deserters,  spies, 
thieves,  men  and  women  of  the  worst.  Castle  Thunder 
was  a  Confederate  prison  for  traitors,  military  delin- 
qucDts,  blockade  runners,  government  convicts.  All  the 
rubbish,  filth  and  scum  of  such  a  time,  had  its  doors  torn 
open,  and  made  its  ghastly  contributions  to  the  disorder 
and  wreck  of  the  city.  The  state  penitentiary  located  in 
the  city  was  deserted  of  its  guards,  and  its  legion  of 
criminals  burst  forth,  maddened  with  liberty,  famishing 
for  food,  and  eager  to  join  in  the  anarchy  and  riot  of  the 
day.  This  of  course  was  before  the  Federal  authorities 
had  formally  taken  charge  of  the  city.  It  was  into  a 
shifting,  desperate  scene  like  this  that  my  manly  young 
councilman  and  myself  were  cast.  The  howling  crowd 
took  scant  note  of  us,  though  they  flung  us  an  occasional 
curse  or  an  indecent  threat  and  further  enlivened  the 
situation  by  the  firing  of  pistols  and  other  reckless  indul- 
gences. We  pushed  through  the  crowd,  struck  up  Main 
Street  and  made  for  the  military  headquarters  of  the  Fed- 
eral forces  which  stood  near  where  the  city  hall  is  now 
located.  It  was  soldiers,  soldiers,  soldiers  everywhere  ; 
it  was  bayonets,  muskets,  muskets,  bayonets  and  loun- 
ging soldiers  on  every  side.  The  Capitol  Square  was  filled 
up  and  the  headquarters  by  no  means  easy  of  access.  We 
asked  questions,  saluted  all  blue  coats  which  stood  in  our 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  105 

path,  accepted  repulses  as  a  part  of  our  lot,  advanced  by 
degrees  and  finally  got  into  tlie  room  of  the  man  in  whose 
hands  the  destinies  of  the  day  were  placed. 

The  general  was  heated,  overworked  and  showed  the 
corrugated  brow  in  its  worst  form.  We  pi-acticed  the 
utmost  brevity  in  stating  our  case,  which  consisted  in 
asking  for  a  guard.  Thereupon  he  delivered  a  brief  lec- 
ture to  us  for  having  set  fire  to  the  city,  and  declared 
that  he  had  not  an  adequate  force  for  his  own  purposes. 
We  told  him  that  we  did  not  live  in  Eichmond  and  could 
hardly  be  held  responsible  for  the  fire,  and  that  what  we 
were  looking  for  was  to  find  somebody  to  aid  us  in  pre- 
venting our  own  town  from  being  burned.  I  did  not 
blame  the  general  for  his  excitability  and  had  no  inten- 
tion of  calling  him  to  account  for  not  treating  his  prodi- 
gal brothers  with  more  gentleness  upon  their  return. 
We  did  get  some  comfort  out  of  the  fact  that  we  got  in 
one  on  him  in  not  being  in  the  town  which  was  in  flames, 
and  there  was  a  faint  suggestion  of  a  smile  which  strug- 
gled vainly  to  light  up  the  crags  and  corners  of  his  face. 
In  a  tone  manifestly  softened,  he  told  us  to  go  back  home 
(not  even  asking  us  to  stay  and  take  dinner  with  him), 
and  that  he  would  see  what  could  be  done.  We  con- 
gratulated each  other  that  he  didn't  hang  us,  and  that 
the  sun  was  still  shining,  and  we  put  back  to  Manchester 
as  promptly  as  our  facilities  for  travel  would  justify. 

In  about  two  hours  after  our  return  we  heard  distant 
strains  of  martial  music,  and  in  a  little  while  a  negro 
brigade,  officered  with  white  men  and  attended  with  the 
shrieks,  shouts,  laughter  and  threats  of  a  savage  crowd 
of  negroes  marched  into  town.  Our  petition  had  been 
answered  in  a  startling  and  an  embarrassing  way.  The 
white  people,  irrespective  of  rank  or  age,  went  into  re- 
tirement ;  we  retired  also  at  our  house,  but  that  night 
our  back  yard  and  kitchen  filled  with  negroes.     They 


106  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

were  uniuvited  but  evidently  felt  well  at  home,  and  while 
I  have  often  heard  of  making  night  hideous,  tlie  hideous- 
ness  of  that  night  can  never  be  told.  I  think  they  offered 
sacrifices  to  all  the  gods  that  night.  Some  sang  religious 
songs  and  shouted  themselves  into  speechlessness ;  the 
dance  with  all  its  wild  orgies  employed  the  energies  of 
others,  while  Bacchus  seemed  to  be  the  most  popular  god 
of  the  promiscuous  revellers. 

Unwarranted  liberties  were  evidently  given  the  negro 
soldiery.  They  raced  the  town  in  groups  and  kept  every- 
thing at  white  heat,  except  themselves,  though  they  were 
by  no  means  wanting  in  the  matter  of  heat.  For  a  while 
we  had  pandemonium  in  full  dress  and  yet  wonderful  to 
state  there  were  no  serious  acts  of  violence,  and  no  con- 
flicts of  the  races.  Tuesday  morning  I  found  it  necessary 
to  call  on  the  brigadier-general  in  command  of  the  post. 
The  occasion  of  this  visit  did  not  chime  exactly  with  the 
music  of  the  hour,  but  it  was  none  the  less  important  that 
I  should  go.  Just  before  Petersburg  was  evacuated  on 
Sunday  night  a  train  of  cars,  with  a  number  of  wounded 
soldiers  aboard,  was  started  for  Eichmond.  It  was  so 
long  delayed  on  the  way  that  when  it  got  to  Manchester  the 
Petersburg  bridge  was  in  flames,  and  of  course  the  trains 
had  to  stop.  There  these  crippled  Confederates  were  left 
without  beds,  without  physicians,  without  shelter  and 
without  food.  A  number  of  Manchester  people  opened 
the  first  floor  of  my  church  building,  got  mattresses  and 
other  things,  wherever  they  could  beg  them,  and  impro- 
vised a  hospital,  to  which  these  wounded  sons  of  the 
dying  cause  were  brought  in  such  conveyances,  and  by 
such  other  means  as  necessity  and  love  could  hit  upon. 

I  felt  it  my  duty  to  report  this  matter  to  the  command- 
ing general  and  hence  my  call.  At  first  sight  I  did  not 
like  the  man.  I  did  not  suppose  that  I  would  find  an 
ideal  soldier  in  command  of  a  negro  regiment,  and  prob- 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  107 

ably  took  along  several  vigorous  prejudices  as  a  part  of 
my  stock  in  trade.  I  had  in  my  hand  a  few  religious 
tracts  which  I  intended  to  take  up  to  the  soldiers.  These 
the  general  neatly  lifted  out  of  my  hand  without  asking 
consent,  and  found  that  one  of  them  was  in  the  shape  of 
a  letter  from  a  mother  to  her  son  in  the  army,  in  which 
she  told  him  that  she  hoped  he  would  be  a  good  soldier, 
but  above  all  things  she  desired  him  to  be  a  good  Chris- 
tian. In  that  phrase  about  being  a  good  soldier  the 
general  discovered  a  magazine  of  rebellion  and  disloyalty, 
and  tore  up  the  pious  little  tract.  I  bore  the  thing  be- 
cause I  had  nothing  else  to  do,  and  because  I  did  have 
one  or  two  other  things  I  wanted  to  do.  After  my  state- 
ment about  the  soldiers  up  at  the  church  he  seemed  to 
relent  and  told  me  we  would  not  be  interrupted  in  our 
attempt  to  promote  the  comfort  and  save  the  lives  of 
these  soldiers.  I  thanked  him  and  arose  to  leave,  but  he 
stopped  me. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  and  help 
me  restore  order  to  this  town?'^  he  asked  in  a  decidedly 
brusque  voice. 

He  then  said  that  I  could  be  of  service  to  him  if  I 
would  do  this.  He  called  my  attention  to  the  fact  that 
my  government  was  in  flight,  my  armies  in  full  retreat, 
deserters  and  prisoners  were  coming  back  constantly,  and 
that  there  was  no  hope  of  my  cause.  He  spoke  roughly, 
and  yet  I  could  not  be  sure  as  to  whether  there  was  any 
note  of  menace  in  what  he  said.  I  foucd  myself  under 
a  novel  pressure,  and  probably  on  the  verge  of  a  crisis. 

''I  will  have  to  admit,  general,"  I  said  respectfully, 
*'that  the  outlook  for  my  cause  is  gloomy  indeed,  but  it 
is  my  cause.  I  have  been  identified  with  the  Confederacy 
from  its  beginning  and  while  its  situation  is  extremely 
distressing,  its  government  still  exists  and  its  armies  are 
still  in  the  fields.     I  would  find  a  blush  crimsoning  my 


108  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

clieek  if  I  forsook  my  colors  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy, 
and  I  confess  that  I  would  be  utterly  ashamed  for  it  to  go 
abroad  to  our  army  or  to  our  people  that  I  had  made 
haste  to  take  the  oath.  I  would  lose  the  good- will  of 
those  who  are  more  than  life  to  me.  I  must  wait  the 
final  issue,  and  if  that  is  the  downfall  of  the  Confederacy 
then  I  shall  have  no  government,  no  country,  no  citizen- 
ship and  no  protection.  That  will  be  the  time  for  me  to 
decide  what  I  ought  to  do  about  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance.'^ 

I  must  have  made  a  right  warm  little  speech  ;  at  least 
my  heart  got  loose  and  ran  flaming  into  my  words,  and 
somehow  I  found  myself  gloriously  indifferent  to  what  he 
might  think  of  my  little  oration.  He  looked  at  me  with 
changing  color  and  when  I  ended  he  still  looked. 

'Til  be  dogged  if  I  don't  believe  you  are  right,"  he 
said  with  great  feeling.  ''And  I  believe  it  is  best  for 
you  to  wait." 

It  almost  precipitated  a  scene.  His  cordial  words 
kindled  within  me  a  sense  of  brotherhood. 

"And  now,  general,"  I  added,  "I  think  I  may  take 
the  liberty  of  saying  to  you  that  if  I  can  be  of  any  service 
to  you,  and  you  feel  disposed  to  trust  me,  you  will  find 
me  at  your  command.  I  desire  good  order  and  peace  as 
truly  as  you  do." 

He  said  :  "Well,  sir,  I  can  trust  you,  and  we  will  work 
together." 

I  confess  that  the  interview  related  above  was  some- 
thing of  an  epoch  in  my  life.  In  this  man  whom  I  did 
not  trust  at  the  first  blush,  I  found  something  that  was 
manly,  trustful,  and  even  brotherly.  I  had  already  seen 
the  inevitable  end,  but  the  sight  of  no  prison  gate  could 
have  moved  me  to  forsake  my  cause  as  long  as  it  had  a 
gun  to  fire  or  a  battle  to  fight.  I  was  rather  ashamed  of 
myself  that  I  had  not  suffered  more,  and  I  shrank  with  a 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  109 

passion  stronger  than  life  from  any  compulsory  oath.  The 
generous  view  of  the  case  so  pungently  expressed  by  this 
military  master  was  a  gleam  of  light  from  the  other  side. 
It  refreshed  me  exceedingly,  and  came  as  a  sort  of  crown 
to  my  self-respect. 

From  that  moment  I  suffered  no  disturbance  on  the 
part  of  the  Federal  troops.     They  treated  me  with  the 
utmost  courtesy  and  a  number  of  the  officers  were  guests 
in  my  house,  though  it  was  scant  bounty  that  I  could 
spread  for  their  entertainment.     Two  of  the  commissioned 
officers,  captivated  probably  in  no  degree  by  a  winsome 
manner  upon  my  part,  but  probably  longing  for  taste  of 
home  society  and  fare,  dropped  in  on  me  about  dinner 
time,  on  one  of  those  serious  and  quaking  days.     They 
brought  a  crisis  for  the  female  membership  of  my  house, 
who  had  been  suddenly  transformed  into  cooks  and  house- 
maids.    They  received  the  new  honor  thus  thrust  upon 
them  in  a  manner  so  ambiguous  and  confounding  that  I 
anticipated    the    dinner    with    wasting    apprehension. 
Troubles  throbbed  and  muttered  in  the  air,  and  I  con- 
ducted my  guests  to  the  table  with  trembling,  and  I 
knew  not  how  to  hold  up  my  head  as  I  looked  at  the 
scant  and  ill-cooked  dinner.     It  consisted  of  fried  bacon, 
corn  bread,  coffee  and  a  vast  amount  of  nothing  besides. 
The  officers  were  gentlemen  for  they  forced  down  the 
coarse    material  spread  before  them  and  smiled  their 
gratitude,  but  just  the  same  I  knew  they  had  tales  to 
tell  when  they  went  back  to  headquarters  that  would 
burn  my  ears  to  a  crisp  if  they  ever  got  back  to  me.     I 
charged  the  women  with  being  actuated  with  sectional 
hostility  in  spreading  such  a  dinner,  but  they  replied 
with  spirit  that  they  had  served  the  best  with  which  the 
master  of  the  house  had  provided  them.     They  admitted 
that  we  did  have  a  little  flour  but  that  they  turned  it  into 
dried  apple  turnovers  and  had  turned  a  few  honest  pennies 


110  ALONG  THE  TEAIL 

by  selling  them  to  the  Federal  soldiers.  To  this  day  I 
believe  that  they  might  have  raked  up  a  few  of  those  flap- 
jacks as  a  dessert,  for  those  spangled  and  handsomely 
dressed  representatives  of  a  yet  hostile  government. 

Within  a  day  or  two  the  Federal  army  had  finished 
their  pontoon  bridges  across  the  river,  and  they  were 
opened  for  the  accommodation  of  the  most  exasperated 
and  unreconciled  rebels,  of  which  I,  if  not  chief,  was  un- 
mistakably one.  I  found  it  a  battle  with  my  sorrows  to 
cross  the  bridge  and  behold  fair  old  Eichmond  sitting  in 
her  ashes.  I  went,  however,  surveyed  the  dismal  wreck, 
picked  my  way  along  streets,  every  foot  of  which  I  had 
known  so  well,  and  saw  them  now  piled  with  the  debris 
of  the  fire.  I  marked  the  sights  of  buildings  where  my 
friends  had  their  stores,  and  in  which  I  had  had  the 
happy  liberty  of  going  so  often.  Spoilsmen  were  climb- 
ing over  the  crushed  walls,  scrambling  through  the  ruins, 
under  their  quenchless  passion,  for  booty  or  for  relics. 
Now  and  then  I  met  an  old  acquaintance  or  two  standing 
in  the  desert  of  the  wreck  viewing  the  places  where  their 
business  and  their  fortunes  had  been.  Some  seemed 
held  by  a  fascination  which  had  in  it  dead  hopes  and 
shattered  purposes.  Not  one  did  I  find  who  was  cleaning 
away  the  rubbish  or  preparing  to  rebuild.  How  could 
they  1  They  had  nothing  left.  I  never  saw  a  spectacle  so 
grim  and  so  disheartening,  and  yet  there  is  a  spring,  a 
self-recovering  power  in  many  souls,  and  some  of  those 
men  cracked  their  pathetic  jokes,  talked  of  better  days 
and  did  not  seem  at  all  ready  to  give  up.  I  climbed  the 
hills  towards  Broad  Street,  which  contained  many  of  the 
retail  stores  of  the  city  and  which  had  escaped  the  fire. 
Most  of  these  were  shut  up.  Their  owners  had  neither 
stock  nor  capital.  Here  and  there  a  shrewd  settler,  more 
distinguished  for  enterprise  than  for  a  nice  distinction 
between  meum  and  tuum,  had  taken  possession  of  some 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  111 

buildings  aud  was  cryiug  the  virtues  of  Lis  wares  in  the 
ears  of  the  passers-by.  Already  shifty  and  adventurous 
Yankees,  as  if  travelling  in  air-shii)S  and  bringing  their 
freight  with  them,  were  driving  a  trade  for  storerooms 
and  getting  ready  for  business.  As  for  markets  there 
were  none.  The  country  people  had  little  to  sell  and 
what  they  had  they  brought  in  carts  and  peddled  from 
door  to  door.  The  bulk  of  the  houses  were  shut  up, 
locked  and  silent.  As  for  the  men  they  ambled  aimlessly 
along  the  street  or  bunched  in  idle  groups  at  the  corners 
and  looked  seedy  and  suspicious.  Parolled  Confederates 
were  in  sight  everywhere,  but  in  almost  every  case  idle, 
but  after  all  they  held  up  their  heads  the  highest  and 
were  of  all  the  most  cheery  and  contented.  They  had 
done  their  best,  and  they  who  do  that  can  never  be  mis- 
erable afterwards.  Blue  coats  were  predominant  and,  as 
for  negroes,  it  looked  as  if  Africa  itself  had  been  turned 
up  on  one  side  and  had  emptied  her  millions  upon  us. 
All  that  were  in  Richmond  stayed,  and  all  on  the  outside 
got  there  as  soon  as  they  could.  They  owned  the  side- 
walks and  filled  them  to  overflowing. 

The  resident  streets  were  bare  and  showed  few  walkers 
or  riders.  Blinds  were  shut  and  curtains  drawn  as  if  to 
hide  the  sorrow  within  or  to  shut  off  the  sight  of  the  in- 
vaders. Even  in  that  extremity  Sorrow  demeaned  herself 
with  dignity,  and  sometimes  with  a  composure  which 
nothing  could  destroy.  Ladies  rarely  appeared  on  the 
streets  and  children  shrank  in  mortal  dread  from  the  first 
sights  of  the  blue  coats.  How  the  people  subsisted  during 
those  early  days  is  a  mystery  which  pride  veiled  and  which 
no  historian  will  ever  tell.  I  knocked  at  the  doors  of 
old  friends,  but  it  was  hard  to  get  replies.  They  were  not 
keeping  an  open  house,  and  did  not  desire  the  company 
of  their  impoverished  relative  from  the  country.  Their 
hopes  had  suffered  an  irretrievable  collapse  and  they 


112  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

needed  time  for  thoiiglit,  readjustment  and  a  renewed 
love  of  life. 

I  am  not  sure  that  an  outsider  could  hit  off  the  exact 
mood  of  the  Southern  people  at  the  fall  of  the  Confeder- 
acy. Many  of  course  think  of  it  as  a  state  of  sullen  and 
bitter  despair,  carrying  in  it  revenge  and  hatred  towards 
the  conqueror.  In  the  case  of  hard  and  unrelenting  men 
this  was  probably  true  enough  their  state  of  mind.  It 
was  not  the  mood  of  the  real  soldiery  nor  of  the  unselfish 
and  devoted  Confederate  citizens.  They  were  not  built 
for  a  thing  so  little  and  so  despicable. 

Of  course  the  crash  was  grievous  enough.  It  was  a 
flat  fall,  and  with  nothing  left.  But  earnest  and  honest 
men  have  a  good  bottom  to  rest  upon.  They  have  a  con- 
sciousness of  rectitude  and  fidelity  which  is  a  fountain 
that  sometimes  runs  low  but  never  runs  dry.  People  of 
that  type  know  how  to  accept  the  inevitable  ;  indeed  our 
people  had  gone  their  length  and  when  the  end  came  it 
was  a  distinct  finality.  What  is  after  all  more  to  the 
point,  the  Southern  people  have  deep  wrought  in  them  a 
faith  in  a  sovereign  God,  and  the  fall  of  the  Southern 
cause  came  as  a  revelation  to  them.  It  showed  them  that 
their  plans  did  not  fit  in  with  the  divine  purpose.  The 
Eichmond  people  naturally  enough  went  into  mourning  ; 
they  were  sore  and  broken,  and  their  grief  courted  soli- 
tude. It  was  not  sulking  in  the  tents  but  simply  taking 
a  season  for  healing,  submission  to  God  and  preparation 
for  the  new  order.  There  was  sadness  enough  but  not 
the  bitterness  that  many  have  thought. 

Dr.  Jeremiah  B.  Jeter  was  then  one  of  the  dominating 
social  and  religious  forces  in  the  city  of  Richmond.  The 
strongest  part  of  his  life  had  been  spent  there,  and  his 
soul  went  all  along  with  the  Confederacy  in  its  historic 
march  to  its  fate.  It  was  said  of  him  that  on  a  Sunday  af- 
ternoon just  after  the  declaration  of  war  a  report  came  that 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  113 

a  Yankee  gunboat  was  steaming  up  the  river  with  a  view 
of  shelling  the  city,  and  that  the  doctor  when  informed 
of  the  fact  seized  an  old  rifle  and  put  out  bodily  and  alone 
to  confront  the  iron-clad  foe.  This  impossible  tradition 
lacks  historical  backing,  but  it  cleverly  illustrates  that 
ardor  and  enthusiasm  of  this  magnificent  old  Virginian. 

In  my  memorable  ramble  through  the  desolate  city  I 
called  on  the  good  Dr.  Jeter,  and  to  my  great  edification 
I  found  him  in  a  genial  and  happy  mood.  He  had  ac- 
cepted the  situation  with  equanimity  and  was  about  as 
cheerful  as  he  usually  was.  He  was  about  the  only  man 
who  seemed  to  have  a  future  and  he  had  one  with  a  grow 
on  the  end  of  it,  and  before  I  got  through  with  him  I  had 
awakened  to  see  that  there  were  yet  many  good  things  to 
come.  My  walk  extended  out  to  Eichmond  College,  my 
alma  mater,  within  whose  walls  and  on  whose  campus 
^appy  years  had  been  spent.  The  distant  sight  of  the 
college  sent  sickness  to  my  soul,  for  it  reminded  me  of 
the  scores  of  my  gallant  brothers  who  had  been  among 
the  foremost  in  the  fray,  some  of  them  attaining  noble 
distinctions  and  others  of  them  dying  chivalric  and 
honorable  deaths.  As  I  came  nearer  I  saw  the  campus, 
filled  with  Federal  tents  and  the  building  looking  like  a 
garrison  castle.  It  was  left  without  enclosures,  with  its 
library  gone,  its  furniture  destroyed,  and  with  a  con- 
stituency stripped,  scattered  and  impoverished.  To  me 
that  was  the  most  heartrending  thing  of  all  that  reign 
of  ruins.  I  piloted  my  way  back  to  Manchester,  torn 
by  adverse  passions,  but  with  a  new  resoluteness  as 
to  the  future.  The  end  of  the  war  opened  the  gates  of 
the  Federal  prisons,  and  thousands  of  our  Southern  men 
came  back  through  Eichmond  on  their  way  home.  Not 
a  few  of  them  were  dumped  out  of  ships  or  from  the 
trains,  covered  with  diseases,  with  scant  clothing,  in 
many  cases  with  wounds  and  in  aU  cases  without  rations 


114  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

or  transportation.  Many  of  them  were  tied  up  for  weeks 
in  the  city,  and  it  was  a  pathetic  struggle  with  them  to 
find  a  bed  to  sleep  in  or  bread  to  eat.  In  my  home  I  had 
a  cherished  and  a  noble-hearted  sister,  already  well  ad- 
vanced in  life,  and  her  soul  cried  out  with  pity  for  these 
remnants  of  the  lost  cause.  She  watched  the  railroad 
station  and  often  brought  in  these  prisoners  to  give  them 
a  bed  or  to  divide  with  them  our  scanty  bread.  Her 
afi&nity  for  these  unfortunate  braves  was  enriched  with 
religion  and  it  did  seem  impossible  that  one  with  so  little 
could  help  so  many  and  help  them  so  much. 

One  day  this  indefatigable  woman  walked  in  from  the 
near-by  station  escorting  a  limping  ex- Confederate  and 
looking  as  proud  as  if  she  had  captured  the  entire  Federal 
army.  It  turned  out  that  her  new  conquest  was  an  old 
acquaintance  from  the  fair  hills  of  old  Bedford,  our  own 
proud  nativity.  A  fine  old  citizen  was  he,  known  well 
to  us  in  brighter  days,  and  much  honored  in  his  own 
community,  a  private  in  the  ranks,  ever  at  the  point  of 
danger  when  battles  raged  until  fate  sent  him  a  prisoner 
to  Point  Lookout.  Bent,  soiled,  thin  of  face,  marked 
with  diseases  and  ragged  indeed.  It  made  us  proud  to 
welcome  him  and  treat  him  as  our  own.  A  bed  was 
speedily  prepared  for  him  but  he  would  none  of  it,  say- 
ing he  had  too  much  mercy  for  the  bed  to  touch  it,  and 
his  refusal  was  flat  and  final.  He  was  led  to  a  lounge  in 
the  parlor  but  again  he  refused  with  a  sombre  glee,  in- 
sisting that  an  inhabitant  of  Point  Lookout  had  no  right 
in  any  Virginia  parlor.  Modestly  he  besought  the  mean 
privilege  of  spreading  his  blankets  into  a  pallet  on  the 
back  porch  where  he  might  bask  in  the  April  sunshine. 
We  quarrelled  openly  with  him  for  trampling  upon  our 
right  to  make  him  comfortable  but  he  met  it  with  a  play- 
fulness that  revealed  too  plainly  his  feebleness.  We 
bantered  him  about  his  false  pride,  pictured  to  him  the 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  115 

welcome  awaiting  liiin  in  Bedford,  and  outlined  the 
delicacies  stored  away  for  him  by  his  wife,  and  what  a 
spoiled  fellow  he  would  be  when  he  got  back  home.  In 
all  the  jollity  and  merrymaking  he  joined  right  heartily, 
but  finally  turning  over  on  his  side,  he  asked  that  he 
might  refresh  himself  with  a  little  nap.  In  the  mean- 
while the  ladies  were  bestirring  themselves  to  beat  up 
something  fit  for  the  tired  old  Confederate  to  feast  upon. 
Presently  the  dinner-bell  rang — rang  all  for  him,  and 
things  were  made  comfortable  about  his  chair,  but  he  did 
not  answer  the  call.  The  good  sister  claimed  that  she 
alone  should  arouse  him  and  bring  him  in.  In  a  moment 
she  returned  speechless  except  as  her  tears  told  the  story. 
The  strained  chord  of  life  in  the  breast  of  the  veteran  had 
snapped  while  he  slept,  and  all  the  joys  of  his  Bedford 
home  of  which  we  had  told  him  were  denied  him. 

We  had  not  a  dollar  in  the  house,  but  I  went  out, 
begged  some  plank,  begged  a  few  nails,  begged  the 
services  of  a  carx)enter  and  went  to  our  little  cemetery 
and  took  without  begging  space  for  a  hero,  and  then 
begged  a  cart  and  we  walked  together,  a  loving  little 
procession  and  put  the  body  away.  When  winter  came 
on  loved  friends  from  Bedford  came  down,  took  up  the 
body,  gave  it  a  better  coffin,  carried  it  home  to  sleep  in 
the  graveyard  of  his  fathers.  It  was  just  one  of  the  ten 
thousand  after-sorrows  which  came  to  Southern  hearts 
when  the  strife  had  already  ceased. 

One  of  the  deacons  in  my  church  before  the  war  was  a 
New  Englander  and  he  went  home  when  the  deadly  noise 
began.  On  the  Sunday  after  the  fall  of  Eichmond  he 
reappeared  at  the  church,  and  he  got  looked  at  from 
several  different  points  of  the  compass.  His  presence 
was  a  test  of  heart  feeling.  Some  shied  off  their  own 
way  and  left  him  the  rest  of  the  earth.  Some  passed  him 
a  bow  with  pendant  icicles,  some  shook  his  hand,  and  as 


116  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

for  myself  I  proudly  shared  in  a  small  degree  Tvith  all 
classes  of  tliem,  but  after  we  chatted  a  while,  he  looked 
just  like  he  used  to  look,  and  troops  of  pleasurable  feel- 
ings raced  through  me,  and  I  invited  him  to  dine  with 
me,  and  he  looked  in  six  or  seven  different  ways  and 
finally  said  he  would,  and  he  did.  We  had  a  jolly  time 
and  talked  about  everything  except  a  little  difference  of 
feeling  which  had  existed  between  the  two  sections  for 
the  preceding  four  years.  Our  friendship  suffered  no 
shock,  and  we  were  much  together  after  the  war. 

Just  after  the  fall  of  the  city  President  Lincoln  came 
to  Eichmond.  He  came  unannounced  and  his  visit  was 
almost  like  the  flitting  of  a  spirit  in  the  air.  No  one 
knew  that  he  was  coming,  few  saw  him  while  he  was 
there,  nor  knew  when  he  went  away.  There  were  no 
city  authorities  to  welcome  nor  to  refuse  him  welcome. 
There  was  no  opportunity  for  popular  demonstration  and 
probably  there  would  not  have  been  any,  for  at  that  time 
the  people  were  not  in  a  notion  for  any  dramatic  loyalty. 
At  the  same  time,  of  all  the  men  of  the  North,  not  one 
commanded  so  much  of  the  respect  and  the  good- will  of 
the  people  as  did  Abraham  Lincoln.  We  respected  him 
then  and  during  the  days  of  reconstruction — more  bitter 
in  some  respects  than  the  war  itself— there  were  thou- 
sands who  wished  that  Lincoln  was  at  the  head  of  the 
government,  and  as  the  years  have  come  along  with  their 
softening  and  balancing  touch,  one  point  of  strength  in 
the  restored  union  is  the  love  and  reverence  felt  in  every 
section  of  the  country  for  that  man  of  sorrows  and  of 
strength,  Abraham  Lincoln. 

A  startling  thing  occurred  in  Richmond  soon  after  the 
fall  of  the  city.  A  day  of  mourning  in  honor  of  Presi- 
dent Lincoln  was  appointed  by  the  Washington  au- 
thorities, and  it  was  openly  bruited  about  that  Southern 
people  were  in  sympathy  with  the  assassin.     This  was 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  117 

the  most  bitter  sting  that  ever  pierced  the  Southern 
heart.  Our  people  had  fought  a  clean,  straight-out, 
honorable  war,  and  the  intimation  that  after  we  had 
grounded  our  arms  we  should  be  charged  with  approving 
the  fatal  deed  of  Booth,  was  like  a  poisoned  dagger  in  the 
breasts  of  our  people. 

But  Richmond  arose  to  the  occasion.  One  of  her  most 
chivalrous  and  intrepid  citizens,  Eev.  Dr.  J.  Lansing 
Burrows,  himself  a  native  New  Yorker,  and  pastor  of 
one  of  the  great  churches  of  the  city,  announced  that  his 
church  would  observe  the  day  of  mourning.  It  brought 
a  situation  so  complex,  so  strange,  that  it  fairly  shook 
the  town.  The  day  came  and  with  it  the  people — the 
blue,  the  gray  and  the  black  filled  the  old  First  Baptist 
Church,  and  they  heard  perhaps  the  most  majestic  and 
courageous  address  that  ever  rang  out  from  an  American 
platform.  The  speaker  had  a  word  to  say  about  the 
army  of  the  Eepublic  and  gave  it  its  rightful  meed  of 
praise  ;  he  spoke  of  the  South,  her  convictions,  her  sac- 
rifices, her  disasters,  her  final  sorrows.  He  spoke  of 
Lincoln  in  well-chosen  and  sober  words,  giving  him  the 
tribute  that  not  all  felt  at  that  time  was  his,  but  did  it  so 
delicately  and  so  convincingly  that  there  was  general 
response.  Then  it  was  that  the  eloquent  climax  came. 
He  took  up  the  charge  against  the  South  as  to  its  com- 
plicity in  the  death  of  Lincoln,  and  it  is  no  exaggeration 
to  say  that  the  eloquence  of  that  defense  might  rank  with 
the  finest  passages  in  the  greatest  addresses  by  the  chief- 
est  orators  of  the  world. 

In  ending  this  chapter  it  must  be  allowed  me  to  describe 
two  scenes  upon  which  my  eyes  were  allowed  to  look, 
and  the  memory  of  which  abides  undimmed  in  my  soul 
to  this  very  hour. 

The  first  was  the  passing  of  the  victorious  Northern 
armies  by  my  humble  gate  in  the  plain  old  town  of  Man- 


118  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

Chester  as  they  were  eD  route  for  Washington  City  to  be 
disbanded.  The  first  in  the  order  of  passing  was  the 
army  of  General  Grant  which  finished  its  work  at  Ap- 
pomattox, and  which,  after  gathering  its  scattered  forces, 
came  through  Eichmond.  I  had  the  privilege  of  sitting 
upon  my  veranda  and  seeing  this  vast  and  admirably 
equipped  army  pass  before  me.  It  took  it  practically 
three  full  days  to  make  the  passage.  I  write  at  random 
and  with  no  claim  of  official  accuracy.  It  was  said  at  the 
time  that  there  were  about  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
thousand  men  in  the  line.  It  embraced  all  branches  of 
the  service  and  came  through  in  full  dress,  as  fine  a 
pageant  as  mortal  eyes  ever  looked  upon.  Every  brigade 
had  its  band  of  music  and  hour  after  hour  the  tramp  of 
infantry,  the  clatter  of  the  cavalry,  the  dull  thunder  of 
the  artillery  and  the  steady  beat  of  the  drum  made  things 
at  once  picturesque  and  impressive.  Not  long  after  the 
passage  of  Grant's  army,  General  Sherman's  army  came 
on  from  the  South,  and  really  seemed  in  all  respects  fully 
equal  to  the  army  of  the  Potomac.  Perchance  my  vision 
was  twisted  some,  but  truly  I  can  say  that  the  military 
array  was  so  imposing  and  tremendous,  so  significant  of 
strength  and  power  that  I  felt  after  all  it  was  not  so  bad 
for  the  thinned  and  ragged  and  half-fed  legions  of  the 
South  to  be  overcome  in  a  contest  so  unequal. 

But  I  saw  another  sight  in  connection  with  Richmond's 
fall  which  I  confess  thrilled  me  a  thousand  times  more 
than  all  the  glory  of  the  victorious  armies  of  the  Republic. 
It  was  a  spectacle  that  broke  upon  me  most  unexpect- 
edly ;  it  came  while  the  heavens  were  black  with  storm 
and  the  streets  were  wild  with  flooding  rains. 

What  I  saw  was  a  horseman.  His  steed  was  bespat- 
tered with  mud,  and  his  head  hung  down  as  if  worn  by 
long  travelling.  The  horseman  himself  sat  his  horse  like 
a  master  j  his  face  was  ridged  with  self-respecting  griefs  ; 


SITTING  IN  THE  ASHES  119 

his  garments  were  worn  in  the  service  and  stained  with 
travel ;  his  hat  was  slouched  and  spattered  with  mud  and 
only  another  unknown  horseman  rode  with  him,  as  if  for 
company  and  for  love.  Even  in  the  fleeting  moment  of 
his  passing  by  my  gate,  I  was  awed  by  his  incomparable 
dignity.  His  majestic  composure,  his  rectitude  and  his 
sorrow,  were  so  wrought  and  blended  into  his  visage  and 
so  beautiful  and  impressive  to  my  eyes  that  I  fell  into 
violent  weeping.  To  me  there  was  only  one  where  this 
one  was  ;  there  could  be  only  one  that  day,  and  that  one 
was  still  my  own  revered  and  cherished  leader,  stain- 
less in  honor,  resplendent  and  immortal  even  in  defeat, 
my  own,  my  peerless  chieftain,  Eobert  E.  Lee. 

In  that  lone  way,  in  the  midst  of  rain  and  mire,  with 
no  crowds  to  hail  him,  with  no  resounding  shouts  to  wel- 
come him,  with  no  banners  flapping  about  him,  did  he 
come  back  from  disastrous  war.  But,  ah  !  we  did  not 
know.  Conquered  and  solitary  he  was,  but  yet  he  wore 
invisible  badges  of  victory  ;  he  carried  spoils  of  honor 
and  conquest  which  could  never  fail,  and  in  every  step  of 
bis  sad  moving  he  was  marching  forward  to  take  his 
place  in  the  palace  courts  of  universal  fame. 


VII 

A  BRIEF  SOJOURN  IN  BALTIMORE 

AT  the  end  of  the  Civil  War  the  Franklin  Square 
Baptist  Church  of  Baltimore  underwent  a  strain 
at  once  peculiar  and  acute.  Its  membership 
while  doctrinally  and  spiritually  harmonious  was  much 
divided  on  the  issues  of  the  war.  They  were  largely 
Southern  in  association,  sympathy  and  commercial  inter- 
ests ;  but  quite  a  considerable  element  sided  with  the 
Federal  Union  and  joined  in  the  movement  to  crush 
secession.  In  spite  of  this  fearful  dissension  the  church 
moved  along  quite  smoothly  until  the  end  came.  Several 
young  men  of  the  church  were  in  the  Southern  armies, 
and  after  the  surrender  of  the  Southern  armies  they  re- 
turned to  Baltimore  and  naturally  enough  attended  the 
chui'ch  of  which  they  were  members.  Soon  after  their 
return  the  Lord's  Supper  was  celebrated  one  Sunday 
morning  and  these  young  men,  gladly  enough,  undertook 
to  join  in  the  solemn  service.  It  so  chanced  that  the 
church  officer  who  waited  upon  that  part  of  the  congre- 
gation in  which  these  young  men  sat  was  an  uncompro- 
mising adherent  of  the  Union,  and  in  his  eyes  it  seemed 
well-nigh  sacrilegious  for  these  young  men  who  had 
fought  against  the  Union  to  share  in  the  privileges  of  the 
Supper. 

Accordingly  he  took  the  matter  into  his  own  hands 
and  without  the  least  disguise  of  his  motive  withheld  the 
bread  and  wine  from  these  unrepentant  rebels.  This  act 
on  the  deacon's  part  kindled  a  fierce  excitement.  It 
brought  on  a  dissension  so  sharp  and  relentless  that  it 
split  the  church,  with  the  result  that  the  Southern  ele- 

120 


A  BRIEF  SOJOURN  IN  BALTIMORE     121> 

ment  in  the  membership  proved  to  be  by  large  odds  the 
predominant  party  and  the  severe  old  deacon  and  his 
sympathizers  walked  out. 

I^aturally  enough  the  victors  turned  their  eyes  towards 
Dixie  when  they  came  to  select  a  pastor.  Their  choice 
fell  upon  me,  but  my  inexperience  joined  with  my  de- 
votion to  my  charge  in  Manchester  caused  me  to  de- 
cline the  call.  I^early  a  year  afterwards  they  repeated 
their  offer  of  the  pastorate  and  on  the  17th  of  March, 
1867,  I  was  installed  as  the  pastor  of  the  Franklin  Square 
Baptist  Church.  Of  course  I  knew  that  my  selection  was 
due  in  no  small  part  to  the  fact  that  I  was  a  Southern 
man,  and  I  could  not  forget  that  those  who  had  quit  the 
church  on  sectional  grounds  would  eye  me  with  disfavor, 
because  I  came  at  the  bidding  of  those  at  whose  hands 
they  had  suffered  a  disastrous  defeat. 

By  the  time  I  reached  Baltimore  the  war  had  been  over 
for  nearly  two  years,  and  about  all  of  the  asperities  which 
had  lodged  in  my  soul  had  taken  their  flight.  I  caught 
quite  a  number  of  wry  glances  from  those  who  had  gone 
out  of  the  church,  but  I  made  no  note  of  them,  and  felt 
rather  sorry  for  the  ill-used  and  dislodged  brethren,  and 
even  went  to  see  them,  and  by  degrees  had  a  good  time 
with  them.  It  was  not  very  long  before  some  of  the 
choicest  of  my  Baltimore  friends  were  among  these  aliens, 
as  they  were  somewhat  reproachfully  called,  and  I  confess 
that  it  gave  me  unspeakable  satisfaction  to  see  some  of 
them  returning  to  the  fold. 

The  church  was  not  large  but  it  was  as  choice  a  body 
of  Christian  people  as  I  ever  knew.  They  were  cordial, 
harmonious,  intelligent,  and  overflowing  with  kindness 
and  helpfulness  towards  me.  The  location  of  the  church 
and  some  defects  in  its  construction  were  depressing  to 
me,  but  I  fully  persuaded  myself  that  I  was  the  happiest 
being  in  all  the  earth,  and  that  no  other  place  on  the 


122  ALONG^THE  TRAIL 

earth  could  ever  tempt  me  to  leave  my  homogeneous  and 
fascinating  little  charge  in  the  Monumental  City.  "When 
letters  began  to  come  to  me  concerning  the  pastorate  of 
the  First  Baptist  Church  in  Petersburg,  Ya.,  I  almost 
repelled  them  as  imi^ertinent  and  impossible.  When 
however  a  committee  with  Col.  David  G.  Potts  as  its 
chairman  cornered  me,  and  uncovered  before  me  the  mag- 
nificent opportunity  which  awaited  me,  and  I  saw  with 
the  fullest  conviction  that  my  duty  was  there,  I  verily 
believed  that  there  never  was  and  never  could  be  a  hap- 
pier man  than  I  was.  I  walked  the  mountain  heights  of 
rapture. 

A  Virginian  is  a  stark  fool  to  everybody  else  except  to 
Virginians.  Other  people  may  feel  as  they  please,  but 
only  a  Virginian  knows  how  a  Virginian  feels.  I  had 
fooled  myself  to  death  in  believing  that  I  was  happy  out 
of  Virginia,  but  the  spirit  of  about  twelve  generations  of 
Virginians  lay  sullen  and  restless  within  me.  It  gave 
me  time  to  enjoy  my  delusions  for  a  season,  but  when  the 
gateway  of  the  Old  Dominion  flew  open  and  I  saw  the 
track  clear  and  straight  before  me,  I  felt  that  the  mil- 
lennium was  at  hand.  All  this  may  sound  like  idiotic 
prattle  to  the  outsider,  but  let  him  rave.  He  doesn't 
understand  it  at  all. 

But  let  me  be  just  to  Baltimore.  It  put  its  hooks  into 
me  in  a  powerful  fashion  and  has  grappled  me  ever  since. 
Xot  for  one  moment  did  I  ever  desire  to  live  in  Baltimore 
or  anywhere  else  on  this  mortal  sphere  outside  of  Vir- 
ginia, but  Baltimore  is  great  and  unsurpassed  in  its 
hospitality,  its  public  spirit  and  quenchless  courage. 
Kot  one  of  all  the  ministers,  resident  there  then,  remains 
to  greet  me  now.  In  those  days  the  star  of  the  Baltimore 
pulpits  was  Eichard  Fuller,  kingly  in  form,  the  soul  of 
eloquence,  and  preeminent  among  the  sons  of  the  South* 
To  him  I  must  devote  a  chapter. 


VIII 

RICHARD  FULLER  AS  I  SAW  HIM 

THE  Southern  Baptist  Convention  lield  its  meet- 
ing in  Eichmond,  Ya.,  in  IMay,  1859.  The 
reader  will  recall  I  had  been  out  of  college  just 
one  year,  and  was  pastor  in  Manchester.  Then  for  the 
first  time  I  saw  the  convention.  What  whetted  my 
interest  in  the  meeting  was  a  Baptist  caucus,  if  I  may 
call  it  so,  which  I  attended  the  day  the  convention  opened. 
It  was  held  in  the  Second  Baptist  Church  of  Eichmond, 
and  was  composed  of  the  Virginia  delegates  to  the  con- 
vention. It  came  out  in  the  caucus  that  the  Graves- 
Howeli  imbroglio,  which  was  then  at  its  acutest  stage, 
was  to  lift  its  monstrous  head  in  the  coming  convention, 
and  we  were  asked  to  act  together  when  the  crisis  came. 
We  all  agreed  that  we  would  vote  for  Dr.  E.  B.  C.  Howell 
for  the  presidency,  as  that  seemed  the  bloody  angle  of 
the  contention.  I  believe  it  was  indicated  to  us  that 
Dr.  Howell  would  not  serve  if  elected,  but  that  in  order 
to  express  sympathy  with  him  we  would  vote  for  him 
and  then  he,  in  the  interest  of  peace,  after  being  sus- 
tained by  the  convention,  would  graciously  retire.  I 
being  a  novus  homo  of  the  smallest  dimensions,  and  not 
only  a  stranger  to  fortune  and  to  fame,  but  to  nearly 
everybody  else  in  the  crowd,  counted  myself  quite 
fortunate  in  finding  a  seat  on  the  floor  of  the  platform 
in  front  of  the  pulpit  with  my  face  towards  the  audience. 
It  was  all  a  raw  and  unmeasured  occasion  to  me.  I  cast 
my  vote  and  landed  my  man,  and  also  heard  Dr.  Howell 
read  a  decidedly  dull  paper  setting  forth  the  pros  and  cons 

123 


124  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

of  the  vexatious  situation.  After  action  had  been  taken 
upon  his  declinature  some  man,  whose  name  cannot  be  re- 
called, nominated  Dr.  Richard  Fuller  for  the  presidency. 
I  would  probably  have  felt  a  deeper  interest  in  the  elec- 
tion but  for  the  fact  that  there  was  a  stalwart  man  sitting 
by  me  with  a  mountainous  head,  an  exceedingly  rugged 
face,  a  shock  of  hair  tousled  to  the  point  of  confusion,  and 
two  of  the  most  restless  arms  that  I  had  ever  seen  at- 
tached to  one  man.  I  would  have  marked  him  for  an 
untra veiled  mountaineer,  but  for  his  incomparable  eyes. 
They  shot  and  flashed  and  glowed  almost  to  my  terror. 
I  could  not  think  he  was  much  of  a  somebody  or  he  would 
not  have  been  located  on  that  comfortless  seat.  Pres- 
ently it  was  announced  that  Dr.  Fuller  had  been  made 
president  and  he  was  summoned  to  the  upper  platform. 
The  breath  fairly  took  leave  of  my  body  when  the  rugged 
and  restless  stranger  at  my  side  rose  to  his  feet  and 
ascended  to  the  pulpit.  At  once,  even  as  gawky  and  un- 
tutored a  sprig  of  the  ministry  as  I  was,  I  could  see  that  the 
new  president  was  ill  at  ease,  and  felt  that  he  was  entering 
strange  waters.  He  ventured  a  few  remarks,  only  one  of 
which  hung  to  the  limbs  of  my  mind,  and  that  was  to  the 
effect  that  he  intended  to  run  the  convention  according 
to  the  new  commandment, — a  promise  which  he  verily 
kept,  though  it  was  to  the  undoing  of  about  all  the 
parliamentary  laws  invented  up  to  that  time.  The  body 
adjourned  just  after  his  election  and  it  was  bruited  about 
that  the  kingly  old  doctor  spent  the  entire  night  in  brood- 
ing over  Jefferson's  Manual,  thus  seeking  to  fit  himself 
for  his  official  responsibilities. 

It  is  with  all  reverence  and  with  an  admiration  for 
the  man,  that  I  here  put  it  on  record  that  I  believe  that 
he  was  the  most  wretched  presiding  officer  that  I  ever 
saw  at  the  head  of  a  great  body  and  nothing  but  his  im- 
perturbable humor  and  his  exhaustless  graciousness  saved 


KICHARD  FULLER  AS  I  SAAV  HIM      125 

the  body  from  anarchy.  One  brother  arose  and  raised  a 
point  of  order,  stating  it  in  quite  an  involved  and  equivo- 
cal way  and  Dr.  Fuller,  after  looking  at  him  blankly 
and  helplessly,  said,  "My  dear  brother,  will  you  not  in 
the  interest  of  the  kingdom  we  love  withdraw  that  mat- 
ter ?  '^  It  was  evident  that  the  doctor  didn't  know  what 
to  do  about  it,  and  the  disgruntled  brother  after  a  little  re- 
monstrance solved  the  situation  by  taking  the  thing  back. 
A  Scotchman,  amiable,  a  lover  of  peace  and  a  little 
given  to  flying  off  at  a  tangent,  offered  a  resolution  to 
the  effect  that  we  must  all  pray  for  the  Baptist  editors. 
It  was  a  time  when  they  needed  to  be  prayed  for.  They 
were  given  in  those  days  to  pitiless  personalities  and  all 
sorts  of  acrimonious  conflicts.  Dr.  Fuller  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  the  motion,  and  he  stood  for  well-nigh  a 
minute,  a  very  king  in  his  grandeur  and  finally  said, 
^'  Well,  now,  my  dear  Brother  Francis,  we  will  think  about 
that  matter. ' '  The  convention  burst  into  convulsions  and 
Brother  Francis  and  his  motion  went  down  unwept. 
At  many  points  the  convention  came  to  the  verge  of  dis- 
aster. The  two  elements  were  full  of  passion  and  not  a 
few  of  them  eager  for  the  fray.  Dr.  Fuller's  great  soul, 
filled  with  spiritual  mastery,  floated  the  convention  on 
peaceful  seas,  guarding  against  every  rising  storm  and 
after  all  brought  things  to  a  nobler  conclusion  than  any 
rigid  parliamentarian  could  possibly  have  done.  On 
Sunday  morning  Dr.  Fuller  preached  his  imperial  ser- 
mon on  "Thomas"  in  the  pulpit  of  the  First  Baptist 
Church.  Possibly  excepting  his  matchless  sermon  on 
"  The  lifting  up  of  Christ"  at  the  opening  of  the  conven- 
tion in  Baltimore  when  he  was  a  younger  man,  he  never 
preached  so  powerfully  as  he  did  at  that  time  in  Rich- 
mond. I  as  a  pastor  in  Manchester  could  not  of 
course  hear  him,  but  I  could  hear  hardly  anything  else 
during  the  rest  of  the  convention  but  what  people  were 


126  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

sayiug  about  the  sermon.  He  was  pictorial,  vivid,  agile, 
reckless,  thrill ing  and  irresistible.  Some  of  his  pictures 
fairly  lifted  the  people  from  their  seats  and  I  can  truly 
say  that  for  thirty  years  the  people  who  heard  that  ser- 
mon never  ceased  to  talk  about  it.  Next  to  that  I  should 
say  that  his  sermon  on  "The  everlasting  kingdom"  at 
Ealeigh,  N.  C,  at  the  time  the  convention  met  there  was 
the  most  eloquent  and  effective.  It  was  there  that  he 
drew  with  a  master' s  hand  the  picture  of  the  angel  flying 
with  the  everlasting  Gospel,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  cried 
in  his  rich  and  charming  voice,  "  Fly  faster,  fly  faster,  oh, 
angel,  fly  faster."  (Just  before  the  sermon  the  news  had 
gone  forth  of  the  death  of  Dr.  A.  M.  Poindexter  of  Vir- 
ginia, one  of  the  most  passionate  and  sterling  preachers 
in  all  the  South  and  the  people  were  profoundly  afflicted 
by  the  death  of  such  an  illustrious  man.) 

Dr.  Fuller,  instinct  with  eloquence,  wild  in  the  very 
abandon  of  his  speech,  after  seeking  to  cheer  the  angel 
onward  to  speedier  flight,  stopped  for  a  second  as  if  dis- 
appointed and  said  :  "  But  oh,  angel,  if  you  cannot  fly 
faster,  call  Poindexter,  newly  arrived  in  the  realms  of 
glory,  give  him  the  message  and  bid  him  take  it  around 
the  world. '  ^ 

That  strain  of  eloquence  rang  through  the  South  like  a 
charge  to  the  Lord's  host.  People  talked  of  it  every- 
where. Preachers  told  about  it  in  the  pulpit.  Again 
and  again  it  went  the  rounds  of  the  papers  and  even  to 
the  present  time  you  may  meet  in  going  through  the 
South  some  white-haired  man  who  will  tell  you  of  Fuller's 
great  sermon  at  Ealeigh.  It  is  no  reproach  to  say  that 
Fuller  had  his  varying  moods.  He  was  not  always  at 
his  best,  though  justice  would  be  offended  if  I  did  not 
say  that  those  who  heard  him  the  most  set  him,  far  above 
all  comers,  the  unrivalled  chieftain  in  the  kingdom  of 
speech.    When  I  accepted  the  call  to  the  pastorate  in  Balti- 


EICHAED  FULLER  AS  I  SAW  HIM      127 

more  it  quite  surprised  me  that  a  number  of  men  volun- 
teered to  warn  me  against  Dr.  Fuller.  They  said  that  he 
was  aristocratic,  exclusive,  had  no  sympathy  with  young 
men  and  that  I  might  look  out.  Several  men  who  had 
been  pastors  in  Baltimore  told  me  how  they  went  to 
Baltimore  largely  with  the  thought  of  catching  the  spirit 
and  sharing  the  fellowship  of  Dr.  Fuller,  but  that  they 
found,  him  inaccessible  and  quite  a  lot  of  other  things 
that  had  made  them  quite  sick.  In  some  way  the  warn- 
ing did  not  fall  very  forcibly  on  me.  I  was  a  young  and 
obscure  thing  and  was  going  to  what  was  practically  a 
suburban  church  and  I  had  never  thought  of  Dr.  Fuller 
and  myself  on  the  same  day.  I  didn't  expect  him  to  take 
much  notice  of  me  and  would  indeed  have  been  rather 
embarrassed  if  I  had  thought  I  would  be  brought  into 
any  active  contact  with  him.  To  one  of  these  brethren  I 
recall  that  I  said  bluntly  that  I  did  not  expect  to  sleep 
with  Dr.  Fuller  when  I  got  to  Baltimore  and  that  I  was 
sure  that  I  would  expect  nothing  of  him  that  he  did  not 
choose  to  do  for  me.  It  was  in  this  mood  that  I  went  to 
Baltimore  feeling  myself  only  a  young  colt  and  with  no 
conscious  desire  to  be  yoked  with  the  great  Baptist  lion 
of  America. 

After  reaching  Baltimore  I  was  very  solemnly  warned 
by  a  demonstrative  brother  not  to  expect  anything  of 
Dr.  Fuller  or  else  I  was  doomed  to  humiliating  disap- 
pointments. 

They  had  quite  an  imposing  welcome  service  at  Frank- 
lin Square  soon  after  I  entered  upon  my  work  there. 
When  they  handed  me  a  copy  of  the  programme  I  found 
that  Dr.  Fuller  was  the  magna  pars  of  the  occasion.  He 
preached  the  sermon, — strong,  stirring  and  full  of  grace 
and  he  dropped  in  several  kindly  references  to  the  young 
Virginian  which,  in  spite  of  my  evident  duty  to  feel  that 
he  was  against  me,  had  quite  a  genial  and  gladdening 


128  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

tone.  It  did  make  me  feel  that  possibly  after  all  he 
would  not  be  hopelessly  cruel  in  his  treatment  of  me, 
though  I  was  in  no  expectant  mood  and  therefore  not  a 
candidate  for  disappointment. 

A  few  weeks  after  my  work  began,  the  servant  came  to 
my  study  with  a  card  and  on  it  was  the  name  of  Eichard 
Fuller.  Naturally  enough  I  thought  that  if  he  had  any- 
thing against  me  doomsday  had  come,  but  with  no  con- 
scious misgiving  I  entered  the  parlor  and  I  verily  believe 
that  the  most  unique,  interesting,  heart-warming  hand- 
shake that  up  to  that  time  had  come  to  me  was  that  given 
by  Dr.  Fuller.  There  was  not  too  much  of  it  and  not 
too  little,— just  enough  to  make  it  feel  inexpressibly  re- 
freshing. His  way  of  calling  me  ^'Brother  Hatcher'^ 
was  peculiar  and  I  was  foolish  enough  to  feel  that  there 
were  warmth,  sincerity  and  possibly  some  love  back  of  it. 
He  talked  to  me  about  the  preachers  in  Baltimore  and 
had  a  good  word  for  every  one  of  them.  By  degrees  he 
veered  around  to  Franklin  Square.  I  had  been  told  that 
he  was  not  a  friend  of  Franklin  Square  and  that  if  I 
hustled  too  vigorously  in  the  interest  of  that  church  I 
might  feel  the  stroke  of  his  antagonism.  He  told  me  the 
church  had  good  people  in  it,  had  a  good  location,  a  good 
future.  He  did  not  promise  me  anything  and  in  no 
measure  did  he  seek  to  coddle  me. 

The  visit  was  not  long  and  he  ended  it  rather  suddenly 
by  saying  that  he  would  like  for  us  to  pray  together. 
Not  that  I  was  asked  to  take  any  open  part  in  the  pray- 
ing and  for  that  matter  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  I 
would.  But  oh,  that  prayer !  In  its  beauty  and  ardor 
and  tenderness  it  might  have  gone  for  a  poem.  It  was 
uttered  in  a  low  voice,  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emotion 
more  than  once,  and  it  asked  the  Lord  to  do  some  things 
for  me  that  I  hadn't  thought  of,  and  which  I  felt  I  would 
be  the  gladdest  in  the  world  if  the  Lord  only  would. 


RICHARD  FULLER  AS  I  SA\y  HIM      129 

When  he  regained  his  feet,  he  gave  me  his  hand,— an- 
other memorable  grasp,  and  moved  out  of  the  room  with 
not  another  word. 

Now  I  may  have  been  a  young  fool, — possibly  I  was. 
It  may  be  that  my  country-born  soul  had  some  impulses 
of  pride  that  this  eminent  man  had  done  me  the  honor 
of  coming  to  see  me.  I  may  have  been  deceitful  enough 
to  be  glad  that  after  all  the  warnings  that  had  been 
handed  me  unsought,  the  doctor  had  actually  come 
to  see  me.  But  to  the  best  of  my  soul's  truthfulness  I  do 
not  believe  that  any  of  those  feelings  were  things  of  con- 
sciousness with  me.  I  am  sure  I  never  told  any  one  of 
the  men  who  warned  me  anything  that  would  have  sug- 
gested that  Fuller  had  been  better  to  me  than  he  had 
been  to  them.  But  let  me  say  with  all  frankness  that 
that  visit  had  in  it  so  much  of  a  man  and  was  so  courtly, 
so  delicate,  so  free  from  patronage  and  so  rich  in 
brotherly  cheer  that  I  could  have  gone  out  on  the  hills 
and  shouted  all  by  myself. 

I  never  went  to  Dr.  Fuller's  home,' though  I  am  sure 
that  he  invited  me  to  come  to  see  him.  I  wasn't  afraid 
to  go  and  yet  it  looked  like  it  wasn't  worth  while.  I  was 
afraid  that  I  might  break  in  some  time  when  his  great 
brain  was  running  on  full  time  and  interrupt  him.  But 
let  me  say  in  justice  to  myself  that  whenever  there  was  an 
opening  I  made  it  a  point  to  approach  him  and  never  in 
any  case  found  him  in  any  wise  but  cordial  and  accessible. 

It  was  generally  understood  that  Dr.  Fuller  was  at 
times  reticent  and  impatient.  He  could  not  bear  inter- 
ruption when  he  was  closely  engaged.  He  had  a  lordly 
eminence  and  many  sought  his  notice  for  the  glory  of  be- 
ing noticed,  and  he  was  also  reputed  to  be  extremely  rich 
and  the  path  to  his  door  was  kept  hot  by  the  swift  feet 
of  mendicants.  People  broke  in  upon  him  at  all  times  j 
his  hospitality  was  sought  by  those  who  had  no  claim 


130  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

and  even  on  the  street  he  was  waylaid  and  besieged  by 
those  who  desired  his  influence  or  his  bounty.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  these  things  touched  his  nerves  and  made  him 
irritable.  It  must  be  admitted  too  that  Fuller  had  the 
kingly  nature.  He  felt  himself  apart  from  the  common 
herd  and  thought  himself  justified  in  rei3elling  offensive 
intruders.  He  looked  upon  his  time  as  the  most  valuable 
part  of  his  capital,  and  those  who  would  rob  him  of  that 
he  sometimes  treated  as  enemies.  I  heard  occasional 
hints  that  his  table  was  not  easily  accessible.  I  believe 
that  it  was  said  that  his  wife  during  much  of  her  life  was 
frail  and  he  guarded  her  against  the  undue  oppression  of 
company.  All  of  these  things  may  have  served  to  color 
in  some  measure  the  charges  of  the  disappointed  that  he 
was  cross,  exclusive  and  disagreeable.  As  a  fact  all  men 
of  greatness  have  to  hedge  themselves  about  for  self-pro- 
tection and  they  have  a  right  to  do  it.  Mr.  Spurgeon 
himself  the  soul  of  hospitality  and  the  ardent  lover  of  his 
race  had  only  certain  hours  when  the  gates  of  his  wel- 
come were  unlocked  and  even  the  average  pastor  is  con- 
strained to  economize  his  time  and  draw  lines  against  the 
public. 

Yet  Ei  chard  Fuller  was  a  man  for  company.  He  had 
an  almost  inexhaustible  fund  of  humor.  His  anecdotes 
were  innumerable  ;  his  dramatic  talent  was  of  the  highest 
order  and  there  were  times  when  he  fairly  sold  himself  to 
laughter  and  to  fun.  His  power  of  retort  was  usually  on 
duty  and  was  a  thing  of  terror  to  those  who  once  pro- 
voked it. 

On  one  occasion  I  took  part  with  him  in  the  anniver- 
sary of  a  young  men's  society  in  the  First  Baptist  Church. 
Dr.  J.  W.  M.  Williams,  for  many  years  pastor  of  that 
church,  and  a  most  laborious  and  useful  minister,  could 
not  let  an  occasion  pass  without  seeking  to  crack  his 
jokes  at  the  expense  of  his  illustrious  old  neighbor. 


RICHARD  FULLER  AS  I  SAW  HIM      131 

The  name  of  the  society  that  was  celebrating  was  ^'The 
Pastor's  Body-Guard,"  and  the  schedule  called  for  three 
speeches,  one  from  myself,  one  from  Fuller  and  one  from 
Dr.  Williams.  I  was  scared  to  the  very  marrow  in  my 
bones  by  the  presence  of  Dr.  Fuller  j  I  was  a  young 
foolish  thing  anyway  and  had  never  been  on  the  plat- 
form with  him  before.  Indeed  I  suppose  I  was  put  on  to 
fill  up  and  they  worked  me  off  early  in  the  action.  I 
blew  my  tremulous  little  bugle  and  shrank  out  of  notice. 

Then  came  Fuller  in  one  of  the  most  exquisite,  fitting, 
soul-moving  addresses  that  my  ear  ever  heard  or  my  soul 
ever  feasted  upon.  I  had  never  heard  anything  from  him 
or  from  anybody  that  surpassed  it.  His  theme,  respon- 
sive to  the  name  of  the  society,  was  ' '  How  to  Guard  the 
Pastor"  and  he  spoke  of  the  pastor's  body,  the  pastor's 
feelings,  the  pastor's  name  and  the  pastor's  usefulness, 
telling  in  aptest  phrase  how  to  guard  him.  The  miracle 
of  the  address  was  in  his  adroit  and  delicate  commenda- 
tion of  the  pastor.  Even  after  all  these  years  it  seems  to 
me  at  this  moment  that  I  never  heard  a  man  so  delicately 
praised  and  so  beautifully  exalted  as  was  Dr.  Williams 
by  that  address. 

Then  it  was  that  Dr.  Williams  took  the  platform  in  his 
brusque  and  offhand  way.  ''I  see,"  said  he,  ''that  you 
have  me  down  for  an  address  to-night,  but  I  beg  to  inform 
you  that  you  will  not  get  it  and  that  for  two  reasons ; 
first  because  I  have  no  address  and  second  because  you 
have  already  had  enough,  and  what  you  have  had  was 
good.  Both  of  your  speakers  have  given  good  ad- 
dresses ;  indeed  I  can  say  of  both  of  them  that  they  have 
made  the  finest  addresses  that  I  have  ever  heard  from 
them  before  in  my  life.  This  may  not  mean  so  much  in 
Brother  Hatcher's  case  as  I  never  heard  him  before,  but 
he  is  all  right ;  but  I  can  say  the  same  of  Dr.  Fuller. 
His  was  the  best  address  by  far  that  I  ever  heard  from 


132  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

him  iu  my  life,  and  the  best  because  the  shortest.  To 
tell  the  truth,  Dr.  Fuller,  I  never  heard  you  make  a  short 
address  before.  I  never  read  of  you  making  a  short  ad- 
dress and  no  friend  of  yours  ever  chanced  to  mention  to 
me  that  he  had  heard  you  make  a  short  address ;  but 
actually  you  have  made  a  short  address  to-night, — the 
shortest  I  ever  heard  you  make  and  your  shortest  is  the 
best." 

There  was  a  swing  and  dash  in  the  way  AYilliams  put  it 
that  rather  pleased  the  crowd  and  provoked  considerable 
laughter.  For  my  part  I  thought  that  it  was  a  little  too 
decided  in  its  critical  feature.  But  I  supposed  that 
Fuller  would  let  it  pass  unnoticed.  Believe  it  not ! 
After  just  enough  seconds  had  elapsed  for  people  to 
feel  the  silence  Dr.  Fuller  said,  ''Ah,  Williams,  I  un- 
derstand you  perfectly.  My  address  to-night  was  best 
in  your  sight  because  it  praised  you  the  most." 

It  was  the  fall  of  a  trip-hammer.  The  old  Bound  Top 
Church  was  nigh  on  to  shaking  with  the  effect  of  Fuller's 
unpitying  retort.  The  incident  fell  with  a  slightly  grat- 
ing effect  upon  me  if  not  upon  others,  though  the  sym- 
pathy went  to  Fuller  and  the  laugh  was  on  Williams. 
Now,  Dr.  Fuller  was  dramatic  to  a  fault.  A  distinguished 
woman  said  that  Dr.  Fuller  was  an  actor  by  nature  and 
practice,  and  that  she  rather  thought  that  in  the  long  run 
the  practice  got  the  better  of  nature,  by  which  I  suppose 
she  meant  that  Dr.  Fuller's  acting  became  an  art  in 
which,  she  said,  she  sometimes  caught  him.  He  was 
superb  indeed  in  his  moments  of  highest  inspiration  in 
fittiug  his  actions  to  his  thoughts,  sometimes  indeed 
staying  his  words  and  communicating  with  his  audi- 
ence almost  exclusively  through  his  performances.  A 
rare  bit  of  the  dramatic  came  out  later  on  in  the  meet- 
ing mentioned  above  at  the  First  Church.  There  was  a 
collection  for  the  benefit  of  the  society  in  whose  interest 


RICHARD  FULLER  AS  I  SAW  HIM      133 

the  services  were  held.  As  the  collectors  came  up  the 
aisle  Dr.  Fuller  said  iu  a  way  all  his  own,  "  Young  man, 
bring  your  basket  this  way,"  which,  of  coui'se,  the  young 
man  hastened  to  do.  Dr.  Fuller  kept  him  waiting  long 
enough  to  attract  attention,  and  then  slowly  thrusting  his 
fingers  into  his  vest  pocket,  he  pulled  out  something  and 
held  it  up  rather  conspicuously.  ''What  I  hold  in  my 
hand,"  he  said,  ''gives  me  trouble.  Just  before  I  left 
home  to-night  a  plain  and  rather  sorrowful  looking  man 
came  to  my  house  and  asked  for  me.  When  I  entered  the 
parlor  I  found  that  he  had  a  woman  with  him,  and  with 
evident  signs  of  confusion  he  told  me  that  they  desired  to 
be  married.  I  had  my  opinion  as  to  the  wisdom  of  such 
a  proceeding  on  their  part,  but  their  ripened  age  and 
notable  louesomeness  of  manner  forestalled  any  objections 
I  might  make,  and  so  I  pronounced  the  word  which 
turned  twain  into  one.  I  followed  them  to  the  door 
when  they  left,  to  show  them  out  and  in  the  good-bye 
hand- shake  of  the  man  he  left  this  piece  of  money  in  my 
hand.  I  really  felt  that  he  needed  it  more,  in  view  of  his 
new  burden,  than  I  did,  but  he  got  away  without  my  re- 
turning it.  It  is  almost  like  conscience  money  to  me  and 
I  think  that  I  will  feel  better  to  get  rid  of  it." 

With  that  he  dropped  the  note  into  the  basket.  Chafed 
and  chagrined  as  Dr.  Williams  had  been  by  his  very 
recent  passage  with  the  doctor,  he  felt  that  he  was  willing 
to  try  it  again,  and  so  in  a  tone  of  well  dissembled  rebuke 
he  told  the  doctor  that  he  ought  not  to  have  taken  the 
money  and  emphasized  it  with  many  added  and  vehement 
words. 

Dr.  Fuller  dropped  his  eyes  and  looked  momentously 
guilty  and  for  exactly  the  requisite  number  of  seconds 
Williams  chuckled  with  exultant  glee.  "Well,  Brother 
Williams,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  of  that  and  for  a  time  I 
felt  impelled  to  refuse  to  take  the  money,  but  then  it  oc- 


134  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

curred  to  me  that  if  I  did  that  it  would  go  abroad  that  I 
was  marrying  people  without  the  price  and  I  knew  that 
your  people  would  hear  of  it  and  that  your  occupation 
would  be  gone." 

Not  Garrick  at  his  best  could  have  uttered  and  acted 
the  thing  more  inimitably  than  Fuller  did  it.  The  effect 
was  electric.  The  crowd  fairly  shouted  in  their  extrava- 
gant laughter  and  Fuller  was  the  master  of  the  field. 

I  met  Dr.  Fuller  a  number  of  times  while  a  member  of 
the  Executive  Board  of  the  Maryland  Baptists,  and  once 
or  twice  we  sat  together.  It  would  hardly  be  too  much 
to  say  that  during  the  dull  routine  parts  of  the  meeting 
the  doctor  ran  a  little  entertainment  of  his  own.  His 
ludicrous  comments,  his  playful  ''asides,"  and  sometimes 
his  scathing  satires  amply  filled  the  lonesome  spaces  of 
the  evening.  When,  however,  a  matter  of  living  interest 
arose  to  the  attention  of  the  company  he  was  alert,  quick 
with  good  suggestions  and  eager  to  help  on  the  cause. 
Perhaps  the  most  memorable  sight  I  had  of  Dr.  Fuller  was 
when  at  one  of  these  meetings  he  was  convulsed  with 
laughter.  At  that  time  the  white  and  the  negro  Baptists 
worked  together  and  there  belonged  to  the  Board  a  vener- 
able, consequential  and  exceedingly  self-complacent  old 
negro  preacher.  The  point  under  discussion  was  as  to 
the  starting  of  another  negro  church,  not  very  far  from 
the  location  of  this  old  minister's  church.  He  was  asked 
to  give  his  opinion  as  to  the  advisability  of  the  new  en- 
terprise. He  spoke  in  outright  opposition  to  the  move- 
ment, and  by  his  intense  antagonism  excited  the  resent- 
ment of  one  of  the  white  members  of  the  Board. 

''That's  the  way  with  Baltimore  Baptists,"  said  the 
irate  member.  "They  all  want  the  whole  hog.  Their 
motto  is  to  get  everything  and  give  nothing.  Their 
church  is  the  centre  and  everything  must  come  that  way." 

It  was  a  stunning  blow,  whether  deserved  or  not,  but 


RICHARD  FULLER  AS  I  SAW  HIM      135 

the  old  negro  pastor  rose  to  the  occasion  and,  with  tow- 
ering indignation,  he  made  reply,  ''My  church,  I  want 
you  all  to  know,  is  no  jail  ;  we  got  no  chains  to  fasten 
our  members  down.  De  principul  on  which  I  has  my 
church  to  work  is  dat  every  man  is  lef  to  act  accordin'  to 
his  own  indervidual  discrepancy." 

The  thiug  dropped  red-hot  from  his  lips  and  fell  with  a 
weight  of  fall  twelve  pounds.  The  peals  of  laughter  dis- 
solved the  tensity  of  the  moment,  and  none  went  higher 
in  peals  of  hilarity  than  Dr.  Fuller.  He  might  act  but 
there  was  a  great  responsive  soul  in  him  that  was  touched 
by  every  throb  of  human  life. 

I  must  admit  that  the  doctor  was  rather  pitiless  in  his 
jokes  at  the  expense  of  others, — sometimes  cruelly  so,  I 
thought. 

I  was  invited  to  address  a  young  men's  association  in  the 
Seventh  Church  of  which  Dr.  Fuller  was  then  the  pastor. 
I  selected  the  very  formidable  theme  : — ''  Self- Apprecia- 
tion," and  naturally  enough  I  had  something  to  say  about 
defective,  and  yet  more  about  excessive,  self-appreciation 
and  naturally  enough  had  made  some  attempts  at  least  to 
hit  off  certain  phases  of  the  excessive  self- appreciation  of 
young  men.  I  sat  down  in  a  sick  perspiration  and  free 
at  least  from  any  danger  of  over-appreciating  myself 
for  a  good  while  to  come,  for  it  was  simply  impossible 
for  me  to  feel  that  anything  I  could  possibly  say  was  fit 
to  say  in  the  presence  of  Dr.  Fuller. 

As  I  took  my  seat  some  man,  unbefriended  by  organ 
or  piano,  attempted  to  start  a  hymn.  He  hit  it  in  the 
wrong  place  and  it  wouldn't  go  ;  he  tried  it  on  another 
key,  got  it  wrong,  quivered,  bawled,  balked,  and 
tumbled  into  silence.  Dr.  Fuller  broke  the  oppression 
and  nearly  broke  the  heart  of  the  man  by  saying,  ''  Just 
one  more  case  of  excessive  self- appreciation."  Truly  it 
was  the  barbarism  of  humor,  but  the  inhumanity  of  map 


136  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

was  amply  manifested  in  the  uproarious  laughter  with 
which  the  doctor's  remark  was  followed. 

During  my  pastorate  at  the  Franklin  Square  Church 
quite  a  number  of  families  from  the  Seventh  Church  de- 
cided to  come  to  Franklin  Square.  In  every  case,  so  far 
as  I  can  recall,  I  suggested  that  they  would  not  apply 
for  their  letters  without  first  making  known  their  purpose 
to  Dr.  Fuller.  They  acted  upon  my  counsel,  and  they 
brought  me  delightful  reports  as  to  the  warmth  with 
which  he  encouraged  them  to  come  up  and  help  Brother 
Hatcher  build  up  Franklin  Square.  One  or  two  of  these 
families  were  prominent  and  wealthy  and  devoted  friends 
of  Dr.  Fuller,  and  yet  they  assured  me  that  Dr.  Fuller 
bade  them  get  their  letters  and  come  to  our  help.  I  say 
this  all  the  more  willingly  because  there  was  an  impres- 
sion made  that  Dr.  Fuller  thought  more  of  his  own 
church  than  he  did  of  the  Baptist  cause  in  Baltimore.  I 
understood  well  enough  that  it  was  not  for  myself  as  a 
matter  of  personal  partiality  that  he  did  this,  but  for  a 
denomination  of  which  he  was  not  only  a  princely  mem- 
ber, but  an  ardent  lover. 


IX 

SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG 

IT  was  a  curious  conviction  which  landed  me  in  the 
city  of  Petersburg.  My  Baltimore  pastorate  was 
almost  ideal  in  its  comforts,  its  congenialities  and  its 
outlook.  It  was  a  small  charge  but  a  choice  people  and 
they  commanded  my  heart. 

I  dare  not  use  the  word  ''success"  in  connection  with 
any  part  of  my  life.  I  am  so  vexed  even  in  the  fairest 
recollections  of  my  work,  by  my  ever-deepening  sense  of 
inadequacy  and  unfaithfulness,  that  I  am  afraid  to  admit, 
even  to  myself,  that  I  could  safely  speak  of  my  success  in 
any  of  the  graver  undertakings  of  my  life.  I  can  say, 
however,  that  my  joy  in  my  labors  which  I  wrought 
in  Petersburg,  under  the  powerful  conviction  that  car- 
ried me  there,  was  something  closely  akin  to  bliss  itself. 
I  look  back  now  and  think  of  the  people,  not  a  half  dozen 
of  whom  still  remain  on  the  earth,  who  welcomed  me 
when  I  went  there ;  but  how  could  I  ever  forget  them  1 
There  was  Col.  David  G.  Potts,  a  gentleman  in  every 
fibre  of  his  being,  flawless  in  his  loyalty  to  his  young 
pastor,  and  almost  riotous  in  the  spending  of  his  money 
in  the  interest  of  his  church  and  his  Lord.  And  surely 
there  was  never  a  more  helpful  or  delightful  woman  in 
any  church  than  was  the  wife  of  this  glorious  Christian 
worker.  There,  too,  were  deacons  B.  F.  Eobinson  and 
Frank  Eobertson  with  their  devout  and  consecrated 
families.  There  were  the  Eopers,— Leroy  Eoper,  an 
ardent  lover  of  his  church  but  without  public  gifts,  and 
his  devoted  sons,  Emmett  and  Bartlett,  who  lived  and 

137 


138  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

toiled  so  uobly  with  me.  There  was  Mrs.  Thomas  Wallace 
and  her  sister,  Mrs.  Fisher,  whose  courage  and  loyalty  al- 
most made  the  church  at  the  first,  and  whose  lives  adorned 
it,  and  whose  deaths  glorified  it.  Then  there  were  the 
Clements,  the  Lehmeyers,  the  Steels,  and  many  more  whose 
memories  are  unspeakably  precious  to  me,  and  who  stood 
at  the  gate  to  welcome  me  and  stood  by  me  until  my  task 
was  done.  Nor  can  I  forget  the  hundreds  who  joined  the 
church  during  my  pastorate,  too  many  to  mention  here, 
and  yet  of  them  I  must  not  fail  to  mention  the  Sewards, 
the  Budds,  the  Woodys,  the  Bonds,  the  Whitlys,  the 
Garlands  and  ever  so  many  more  whose  devotion  and 
Christian  ardor  gave  brightness  to  my  life,  and  added 
immeasurably  to  the  strength  and  effectiveness  of  the 
service  which  I  rendered  the  church.  I  believe  that  I 
could  say  that  I  never  suffered  the  pang  of  any  wounding 
word  that  was  spoken  to  me  during  my  Petersburg  pas- 
torate by  any  member  of  the  church.  If  I  could  give 
freedom  to  my  pen  it  would  sketch  scores  of  the  choicest 
of  earth  that  entered  into  the  constituency  of  that  church, 
on  whose  strength  I  leaned,  on  whose  bounty  I  feasted, 
and  on  whose  memories  I  find  it  sadly  sweet  often  to 
dwell. 

Petersburg  itself  is  a  unique  and  notable  city.  Its 
people  constitute  its  glory.  They  are  almost  preeminent 
for  hospitality,  friendliness  and  happy  consideration  for 
their  pastors.  My  pastorate  connected  me  by  strong 
Christian  ties  with  Norfolk  and  Portsmouth,  and  all  that 
tide  country  of  southern  Virginia,  on  the  bordei^  of 
which  Petersburg  stood. 

While  pastor  at  Petersburg,  I  was  a  member  of  a  local 
missionary  body,  called  the  Portsmouth  Association.  It 
was  not  very  long  after  the  war,  and  many  of  our  churches 
had  not  recovered  from  the  shock  and  wreck  of  the  war, 
which  so  thoroughly  devastated  that  part  of  Virginia. 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        139 

One  moruiDg  tlie  clerk  of  the  association  was  calling  the 
roll  of  churches  and  when  he  cried  the  name  of  Shiloh, 
the  curt  old  moderator  said,  '^  Don't  call  Shiloh  ;  Shiloh 
is  dead.^'     Under  a  painful  imi^ulse  I  sprang  to  my  feet. 

^'What  is  that?"  I  asked,  with  excited  feeling. 
"Shiloh  dead?  There  is  something  awfully  contradict- 
ory in  talking  about  the  death  of  Shiloh.  When  did  she 
die  ?  What  was  the  matter  with  her  ?  How  long  was 
she  sick?  Who  waited  on  her  during  her  illness? 
Where  was  she  buried  ?  Have  any  flowers  been  planted 
around  her  grave  ?    Any  monument  built  for  her  ?  " 

The  moderator  did  not  seem  to  be  noticeably  sympa- 
thetic with  my  interruption  of  the  roll-call,  and  said  that 
he  thought  it  would  be  very  well  to  appoint  the  brother 
to  visit  the  grave  of  the  dead  church. 

"  No,  sir  !  "  I  replied,  hotly.  "  I  would  be  afraid  to  go. 
I  am  somewhat  superstitious  and  believe  in  ghosts,  and  if 
I  were  to  go  to  the  grave  of  a  dead  church,  I  would  ex- 
pect to  see  the  dance  of  devils  in  full  operation  around 
the  tomb." 

Another  man  arose  and  expressed  the  hope  that  a  com- 
mittee would  be  appointed,  and  they  appointed  myself 
and  that  friend  of  my  soul,  Eev.  A.  E.  Owen,  then  a 
young  man  but  afterwards  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
ministers  in  that  part  of  Virginia,  to  visit  the  neighbor- 
hood and  to  preach  the  doctrine  of  the  Resurrection.  I 
had  no  thought  as  to  the  location  of  the  extinct  church, 
and  was  surjirised  to  find  that  it  was  not  far  from  the  city 
of  Petersburg.  The  following  summer  we  determined  to 
visit  the  neighborhood  and  sent  a  notice  out  to  that  effect. 
The  reply  came  back  that  the  church  was  utterly  extinct 
and  the  house  in  ruins.  Word  was  returned  that  we  were 
coming  just  the  same.  Then  another  report  came  back 
that  ''the  community  was  too  poor  to  support  a  pro- 
tracted meeting."     To  that,  answer  was  given  that  we 


140  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

would  briug  our  owu  rations  and  take  care  of  ourselves. 
I  was  to  leave  the  city  at  six  o'clock  on  Monday  morn- 
ing, go  out  twenty  miles,  be  entertained  at  breakfast,  and 
driven  to  tlie  church. 

It  so  happened  that  my  associate  could  not  go  and  I 
found  it  necessary  to  go  alone.  Meanwhile,  the  good 
citizens  had  been  greatly  chagrined  that  such  ill -bom 
reports  had  been  sent  out  from  the  neighborhood  and 
they  were  put  on  their  mettle.  In  good  time  my  young 
friend  drove  me  through  the  woods  to  the  old  church  and 
a  great  surprise  awaited  me.  True,  the  building  itself 
had  a  look  of  neglect  and  bore  many  marks  of  dilapida- 
tion, but  the  yard  had  been  nicely  cleaned  up,  ever  so 
many  lunch  tables  had  been  built  beneath  the  trees  and 
the  yard  was  dotted  with  groups  of  men  who  were  there 
to  attend  the  service.  I  sprang  out  of  the  buggy  and 
walked  to  the  side  door  of  the  house,  near  which  a  group 
of  men  were  standing. 

''Good-morning,  gentlemen,"  I  said,  without  waiting 
for  any  word  of  greeting  or  introduction.  *'  I  am  a  min- 
ister of  Jesus  Christ ;  I  hear  that  the  church  at  this  place 
is  dead  and  I  have  come  to  sound  the  trumpet  of  life  and 
the  resurrection.  If  any  of  you  have  a  welcome  for  me,  I 
would  like  to  grasp  your  hand." 

With  simple  but  hearty  cordiality  they  pressed  around 
me  and  introduced  one  another  to  me. 

As  soon  as  the  hand-shake  was  over,  I  stepped  up  into 
the  side  door.  The  house  was  more  than  half  full  of 
ladies  and  I  struck  at  once  the  hymn  ''Come Thou  Fount 
of  Every  Blessing,"  using  the  old-time  tune  of  Greenville 
and  sang  the  first  stanza  as  a  solo,  which,  if  not  melodi- 
ous, was  manifestly  enough  exciting — sang  it  as  I  went 
from  the  door  to  the  pulpit  and  was  setting  down  my 
baggage  and  pulling  off  my  linen  duster.  Before  begin- 
ning the  second  stanza  I  invited  others  to  join  in,  but 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        141 

there  was  such  an  eager  inrush  of  men  that  the  second 
stanza  got  very  little  beyond  a  solo.  Then  I  stopped  and 
told  them  to  stand  up  and  sing  the  last  stanza.  The  last 
one  of  them  seemed  to  know  it  and  the  rusty  old  shingles 
on  the  roof  fairly  rattled  under  the  power  of  the  choral 
song.  Good  people  of  all  names  and  from  several  neigh- 
borhoods were  there.  We  had  all-day  meetings  up  to 
Friday  evening.  I  got  on  the  track  of  only  three  of  the 
former  members  of  the  church,  one  a  venerable  woman 
no  longer  able  to  travel,  the  second  an  epileptic  and  the 
third  had  denied  the  faith.  On  Saturday  morning  I 
counted  up  those  who  handed  in  their  names  for  a  new 
organization  and  they  footed  up  fifty -six. 

A  little  afterwards  the  other  brother  of  the  committee, 
Eev.  Mr.  Owen,  and  others  went  with  me  out  to  the  con- 
stitution of  the  church  and  Shiloh  had  come  again.  The 
fruits  of  that  meeting  were  rich  to  a  wondrous  degree. 
Not  only  did  the  church  reorganize,  but  it  became  strong, 
united  and  great-hearted,  and  from  it  went  out  young  men 
and  young  women  who  became  eminent  in  commerce.  In 
education,  in  the  learned  professions  and  in  Christian 
service. 

It  was  but  a  little  part  that  I  was  allowed  to  have  in 
the  remaking  of  the  church,  for  I  was  whipped  off  in 
other  directions  and  never  was  there  afterwards,  but  I 
heard  of  its  beautiful  house  of  worship,  of  the  glad  light 
which  it  was  shedding  far  and  wide  and  met  many  of  its 
scattered  sons  as  I  went,  hither  and  thither,  in  the  dis- 
charge of  the  happy  duties  of  my  ministry. 

Not  very  long  after  the  Civil  War,  and  while  pastor  at 
Petersburg,  I  attended  a  great  gathering  in  the  county  of 
Sussex,  Va.,  held  with  the  old  Antioch  Baptist  Church. 
At  that  time,  foreign  missions  was  at  a  low  ebb  in  the 
South.     The  people  were  impoverished,  they  had  little  or 


142  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

no  literature,  their  churches  were  sorely  strained  to  keep 
up  expenses,  money  was  scarce,  and,  as  a  fact,  very  many 
of  the  chui'ches  were  making  no  offerings  for  missionary 
purposes.  A  request  came  that  a  collection  for  mission- 
ary purposes  should  be  taken  and  I  was  requested  to  ask 
for  the  rather  pitiable  sum  of  $100,  though  many  at  that 
time  thought  it  would  be  impossible  to  get  the  money. 
The  appeal  was  made  and  we  found  that  we  had  $97. 
There  was  a  rugged,  over- candid  old  gentleman,  a  mem- 
ber of  that  church,  who  was  an  avowed  opponent  of 
foreign  missions.  He  sat  on  the  front  bench  and  main- 
tained a  ferocious  silence  during  the  effort  to  get  the 
money.  Some  one  said  that  we  must  not  stop  until  the 
whole  amount  was  made  up  and  I  said,  under  a  momentary 
Impulse,  that  I  was  going  to  spend  the  night  with  this 
old  gentleman  and  that  I  would  get  the  rest  of  the  money 
from  him.  His  retort  was  almost  in  the  nature  of  a 
taurine  bellow.     His  face  flamed  with  fury. 

'^  I  would  like  to  see  anybody  get  anything  from  me  for 
foreign  missions,"  he  said  with  the  thundering  emphasis 
of  finality. 

'^  All  right,"  I  replied  cheerily,  ''I  will  let  you  take  a 
look  at  that  neat  operation  to-night." 

When  I  arrived  at  his  gate,  in  company  with  others,  it 
was  raining  heavily  and  he  appeared  on  his  veranda  and 
gave  the  party  a  royal  welcome,  adding  that  he  would  be 
glad  to  see  me — only  on  the  condition  that  I  would  say 
nothing  about  the  three  dollars.  I  stopped  at  the  gate 
and,  turning  to  the  friend  who  had  brought  me,  I  asked 
if  he  would  take  me  to  another  place  and  he  said  that  he 
would.  I  said  to  the  old  man  with  utmost  good  humor 
but  with  very  distinct  earnestness  that  I  bade  him  good- 
night, as  I  did  not  feel  willing  to  accei)t  his  hospitality 
under  such  an  invitation.  Instantly  he  sprang  from  the 
porch  and  with  good-will  withdrew  the  condition,  giving 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        143 

me  full  liberty  to  talk  about  whatever  I  chose,  and  reserv- 
ing to  himself  the  right  to  do  as  he  felt  proper  under  any 
appeal  that  I  might  make.  I  felt  that  I  had  scored  on 
the  spot  and  we  gathered  in  the  parlor  and  for  an  hour 
had  an  almost  roistering  case  of  old  Virginia  hospitality. 
Everything  was  fitted  for  entertainment  to  the  nicest  point, 
and  the  company  entered  with  ardor  into  the  joys  of  the 
evening. 

In  due  course  supper  was  announced  and  about  twenty 
or  more  of  us  sat  down  to  a  table  literally  loaded  with  all 
the  choice  things  that  that  fruitful  part  of  Virginia  could 
afford.  The  meal  went  off  with  famous  success  and  in 
some  way,  probably  by  a  little  electioneering  on  my  part, 
I  became  the  organ  for  expressing  the  gratitude  of  the 
company  to  the  host  for  his  rare  entertainment.  I  spoke 
of  the  riches  of  the  i)rovision,  the  elegance  of  the  feast,  the 
reign  of  hospitality  and  so  on,  and  closed  by  saying  that 
as  I  thought  of  the  uncounted  millions  of  the  earth  who 
had  never  had  a  crumb  of  the  Bread  of  Life,  I  wondered 
that  there  could  be  a  man  in  the  world  that  had  anything, 
that  would  not  give  it  for  carrying  the  light  of  heaven 
to  the  children  of  darkness.  The  old  farmer  flared  up  on 
the  spot.  His  retort  was  noisy,  decidedly  sarcastic  and 
very  sarcastically  decided. 

Soon  the  company  gathered  in  the  large  country  parlor 
and  the  three  dollar  business  was  called  up.  I  worked  in 
the  best  I  knew  of  what  was  being  done  for  foreign  missions 
and  thought  I  was  gravelling  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
old  gentleman's  soul,  but  when  I  finished  he  said  with 
withering  audacity,  ''You  talk  well,  young  man,  but  it 
is  like  pouring  water  on  a  duck^s  back  ;  the  duck  does 
not  get  wet."  I  think  it  is  barely  possible  that  I  hinted 
that  the  same  thiug  might  be  said  of  a  goose  but  that  I 
did  not  believe  that  the  remark  would  be  in  order.  A 
little  chat  ran  around  the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  I 


1^  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

put  in  a  few  remarks  on  the  luxury  of  liberality,  work- 
ing in  quite  a  number  of  incidents,  and  there  was  a  mani- 
fest tenderness  in  the  group,  a  natural  sort  of  a  response 
to  the  appeal  hidden  in  my  utterances. 

There  was  another  explosion  ;  the  hard  shell  of  the  old 
brother  remained  uncracked,  and  once  more  he  told  me 
that  he  thought  that  in  the  course  of  time  I  might  become 
a  great  orator  and  a  good  lecturer  on  ^'Liberality,"  but 
that  however  liberal  he  might  become,  he  would  never 
give  a  cent  to  foreign  missions.  The  laugh  at  my  expense 
was  free  and  full,  and  I  had  grave  doubts  as  to  the  issue 
of  the  appeal.  After  a  while  I  started  off  in  pursuit  of  a 
few  misers  that  I  had  known.  There  were  several  of 
them,  and  their  covetousness  was  of  the  idolatrous  order, 
and  I  set  uj)  those  cases  one  after  the  other  with  all  the 
pictorial  glare  and  gloom  that  I  could  mix  together. 
^yhen  I  ended  the  old  man  proposed  that  we  go  to  bed. 
I  respectfully  declined  and  the  company  joined  with  me 
in  begging  that,  as  that  company  was  never  together  be- 
fore, and  would  never  be  again,  we  might  drive  ahead. 
The  old  gentleman  picked  up  the  Bible  and  came  over  to 
me  and  asked  me  to  conduct  the  evening  devotions.  I 
thought  a  moment  or  two  with  my  eyes  to  the  floor  and, 
looking  up,  said  to  him,  ''I  beg  that  you  will  put  this 
duty  upon  some  one  else  ;  I  cannot  do  it.^^ 

"Why  not r '  he  demanded. 

''Because,'^  said  T,  soberly,  ''if  I  conduct  this  worship, 
I  will  have  to  pray  for  you,  and  I  would  be  forced  to  ask 
the  Lord  to  incline  you  to  do  what  you  solemnly  say  you 
will  not  do,  and  I  thiok  you  would  regard  the  prayer  as 
out  of  keeping  with  the  occasion.  I  beg  you  to  excuse 
me." 

The  change  which  came  over  him  was  absolutely  start- 
ling. He  stood  with  the  Bible  on  his  arm  in  silence  long 
drawn  out,  and  finally  said  that  things  had  never  come  to 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        145 

quite  sucli  a  pass  with  him  before,  and  I  told  him  that  I 
regretted  to  be  au  occasion  of  embarrassment  to  him. 

Presently  he  broke  into  confused  laughter. 

^'Hatcher,''  he  said,  with  his  characteristic  brusque- 
ness,  ' '  I  care  little  for  three  dollars ;  it  would  not  hurt 
me  to  give  it,  and  I  would  not  mind  giving  it  to  you  after 
your  great  appeal  for  it,  except  that  I  know  you  would 
go  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other  telling  as  you 
went  how  you  tackled  old  Ben  Prince,  a  shagg;^^  old  hard- 
shell Baptist,  and  wrung  money  out  of  him  for  foreign 
missions.'^ 

*'  My  brother,"  said  I  with  a  seriousness  which  I  deeply 
felt,  '*  you  mistake  my  mood.  What  I  have  done  to-night 
has  been  done  with  a  purpose  which  I  believe  heaven  will 
approve.  I  want  you  to  give  something  for  the  conver- 
sion of  the  lost  world  and  not  to  please  me,  and  if  you 
give  it  I  pledge  myself  before  these  witnesses  that  I  will 
never  mention  it  to  a  human  being  as  long  as  I  live  on 
the  earth  without  your  consent." 

There  the  matter  halted  and  the  conversation  revived 
and  became  general,  except  that  my  old  antagonist  had 
become  significantly  silent.  Presently  he  left  the  room, 
and  after  quite  a  long  absence  he  walked  in  and  threw 
three  one  dollar  notes  into  my  lap.  The  quiet  of  God 
seemed  to  be  upon  him. 

*^  There  is  the  money,"  he  said,  as  it  dropped  into  my 
lap,  ^'and  now  I  hope  that  you  are  willing  to  pray  for 
me." 

There  was  an  unmistakable  quiver  in  his  voice  as  he 
spoke. 

'^Yes,  indeed,  my  brother,"  I  said,  "I  can  pray  for 
you  now  ;  give  me  the  Bible  and  I  believe  that  God  will 
hear  us  as  we  call." 

Not  in  all  my  life  have  I  ever  known  a  season  of  social 
worship  so  remarkable  as  that  was.     It  amounted  to  a 


146  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

revival.  It  looked  as  if  every  ODe  present  was  uuder  a 
peculiar  spell,  and  my  good,  contentious  old  friend  be- 
came like  a  little  child  in  his  gentleness.  After  the  prayer 
we  had  a  song,  mellow,  tender,  refreshing,  and  the  com- 
pany quietly  dispersed  for  the  night. 

The  next  morning  the  carriages  were  at  the  door  to  take 
us  back  to  the  meeting.  As  I  was  leaving  the  porch  for 
the  gate  the  old  man  touched  me  and  asked  that  he  might 
have  a  word  with  me  in  the  parlor. 

^*  You  made  me  a  promise  last  night,"  he  said. 

**Yes,  I  did,"  I  replied,  ''and  you  need  not  fear  that 
it  will  be  broken." 

'*  I  want  to  release  you  from  it,"  he  said.  *'  I  give  you 
full  liberty  to  tell  it,  if  you  ever  wish  to  tell  it,  and  I  think 
perhaps  you  ought  to  tell  it ;  it  may  help  the  cause  which 
you  seem  to  love  so  well." 

The  next  morning  at  the  meeting  I  arose  and,  in  sim- 
ple, grateful  terms,  announced  that  Brother  Prince  had 
given  the  rest  of  the  money  and  the  $100  had  been  made 
up.  The  announcement  swept  like  a  wave  of  light  over 
the  crowd,  for  the  old  man  bowed  his  head  as  I  spoke. 

That  morning  another  commission  was  laid  on  me  to 
visit  a  church  that  had  gone  down.  About  the  time  this 
action  was  taken  a  messenger  came  into  the  house,  saying 
that  I  was  needed  for  some  purpose  out  in  the  yard.  Out 
I  went,  and  as  I  was  leaving  the  door  I  heard  my  name 
called.  It  was  my  old  friend  of  the  three  dollars.  He 
came  up  and  put  his  arm  around  my  shoulder. 

''Hatcher,"  he  said,  "you  go  look  after  that  church, 
and  if  they  need  anything,  you  give  it  to  them  and  let  me 
know  and  I  will  square  the  bill." 

During  this  same  pastorate,  Dr.  A.  E.  Owen  and  myself 
held  a  delightful  revival  meeting  with  the  IS'ewville  Bap- 
tist Church  in  Sussex  County,  Virginia.     In  that  church 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        147 

I  found  a  most  eccentric  and  yet  a  really  excellent  man 
by  the  name  of  Albert  Cliappell.  He  was  far  advanced 
in  life,  moderately  prosperous  in  fortune,  liappy  in  his 
familj',  odd  and  careless  in  his  dress  and  quite  amply 
stocked  with  projects  and  prejudices  which  sometimes 
set  him  off  to  disadvantage.  The  neighborhood  honored 
the  old  gentleman  but  had  its  merry  jests  at  his  expense. 
He  was  bent  in  form,  twisted  in  movement,  destitute  of 
one  hand  and  yet  possessed  of  a  grim  and  winsome  humor 
which  largely  atoned.  He  told  me  once  that  he  had  his 
breakfast  the  year  round  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
but  that  he  had  usually  quit  his  bed  at  two  for  a  long  time, 
but  now  he  got  so  tired  staying  in  bed  that  he  was  often 
out  at  midnight  and  lately  he  rose  at  eleven.  When  asked 
what  he  did  with  himself  he  said  that  he  usually  strolled 
over  his  farm,  and  looked  around  to  see  that  his  stock 
and  fowls  were  not  disturbed.  It  w^as  said  of  him  that 
he  had  had  nearly  every  bone  in  his  body  broken  and  an 
unscrupulous  wag  reported  that  he  went  to  sleep  on  his 
porch  one  night  and  rolled  down  the  steps  breaking  his 
neck  in  two  places,  but  that  he  was  out  before  day  the 
next  morning  and  was  doing  quite  well  under  the  circum- 
stances. He  came  into  my  study  in  Petersburg  one  day 
grunting  and  rubbing  his  knees,  and  with  many  other 
signs  of  bodily  wretchedness.  I  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter  and  he  gave  the  following  account  of  his  trouble. 

''  My  old  lady  got  me  in  a  notion  last  week  to  go  down 
the  country  to  see  our  married  daughter.  She's  a  mighty 
fine  ole  ^oman,  always  good  to  me,  and  I  like  to  do  what- 
ever she  asks  me  when  I  can ;  so  I  hitched  up  the  car- 
riage and  got  in  and  as  we  had  to  go  sixteen  miles  I 
thought  I  would  fix  things  so  we  could  enjoy  ourselves. 
I  tied  the  reins  to  my  stump  "  (his  handless  arm),  'think- 
ing it  ought  to  do  somethin'  for  its  own  support.  We 
went  jogging  along  till  we  got  to  the  branch  below  our 


148  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

house.  There' d  been  a  powerful  rain  and  washed  out  the 
bed  and  when  the  horses  jumped  in,  de  reins  juck'd  me 
over  the  spatter  board  and  lauded  me  down  between  the 
horses'  hind  legs  and  de  carriage  wheels.  'Git  up,'  I 
cried  to  the  horses  as  I  saw  'em  backin'  and  away  they 
started  and  here  come  the  carriage  wheels  across  my 
knees.  The  lines  stretched  like  they'd  pull  my  stump 
off.  'Whoa.  Back,  back  I  tell  yer,'  and  here  come  de 
horses'  hind  feet  like  dey  goin'  to  mash  me.  '  Git  up,  I 
tell  yer,'  I  hollered  for  life  and  here  come  the  wheels  and 
they  pulled  on  my  stump.  It  was  git  up  and  back  ;  back 
and  git  up  until  the  ole  lady  jumped  out  and  cut 
dem  lines  and  jerked  me  bodily  out,  and  I  tell  yer  it 
looked  like  the  very  jints  in  my  knees  got  mashed — they 
ached  so." 

I  asked  him  what  became  of  his  trip. 

''  Oh,  I  went,"  he  said.  ''  The  old  lady  had  to  go  but 
I  tell  yer  my  bones  ached  with  every  turn  of  the  wheel 
and  it  seemed  to  get  worse  after  I  got  to  my  daughter's. 
The  second  day  I  hitched  up  and  pulled  for  home  and  I 
ain't  had  no  peace  since.  It  looked  like  I  break  my  knees 
every  time  I  walk."  And  yet  he  had  driven  full  thirty 
miles  that  day  in  the  buggy.  He  was  of  the  old  school 
type  but  a  true  lover  of  the  Lord. 

When  the  great  memorial  movement  in  favor  of  Eich- 
mond  College  was  on  I  received  a  letter  from  the  pastor 
at  Newville  urging  me  to  come  down  and  take  the  collec- 
tion for  the  college.  He  mentioned  particularly  that 
Brother  Chappell  was  a  fierce  antagonist  of  Eichmond 
College  and  was  throwing  his  influence  against  any  col- 
lection that  might  be  proposed.  I  went  down  to  the  Sat- 
urday meeting  at  Newville  and  saw  at  once  that  the  old 
brother  eyed  me  askance  and  bore  himself  in  a  crusty  and 
offish  way.  His  greeting  was  evidently  begrudged  and  so 
I  shied  off  from  him  and  gave  him  time  to  soften.     Sun- 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        149 

day  morning  his  face  wore  the  sternness  of  the  warrior,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  busy  buttonholing  the  brethren  and  evi- 
dently on  the  war-path.  When  I  arose  to  speak  he  turned 
on  the  bench  and  gave  me  the  advantage  of  his  sharp, 
crooked,  bended  back  instead  of  the  light  of  his  counte- 
nance. He  pointedly  ignored  me,  but  my  address  was  on 
Baptist  history  that  day.  Every  now  and  then  some 
fact  or  doctrinal  reference  of  mine  would  please  him  and 
unconsciously  his  eyes  would  turn  my  way,  but  almost  in- 
stantly he  would  recover  himself  and  his  face  would  be 
the  other  way  again.  As  I  moved  along,  his  friendly 
turns  in  my  direction  became  more  frequent  and  his  in- 
terest in  my  address  was  steadily  deepening,  though  occa- 
sionally he  would  wheel  himself  away  in  a  contemptuous 
manner  as  if  trying  to  suppress  me. 

After  a  while,  however,  I  unfolded  some  strain  of 
thought  which  toppled  him  completely  over.  He  joined 
heartily  in  the  humor  of  it  and  faced  me  as  if  he  was  done 
with  the  conflict.  From  that  time  he  laughed  and  cried 
with  the  crowd  and  was  evidently  fully  aligned  with  the 
occasion.  I  came  to  the  appeal  for  money  and  as  soon  as 
I  mentioned  it  a  simple-hearted  brother,  ever  responsive 
to  good  appeals,  a  man  who  looked  upon  giving  as  the 
chief  luxury  of  life,  cried  out,  '^Put  me  down  for  fifty 
dollars."  I  thanked  him  but  said  to  him  that  if  he 
would  allow  it  I  would  prefer  that  the  first  gift  should  be 
made  by  Brother  Albert  Chappell. 

''  How  do  you  know  I  am  going  to  give  anything?  "  he 
asked  with  a  laugh. 

'^  Oh,"  said  I,  ''you  have  been  converted.  I  saw  how 
cross  and  ugly  you  were  at  the  start,  how  you  turned 
your  back  on  me  and  how  mean  you  were  trying  to  be, 
but  I  saw  you  peeping  around  and  saw  when  you  came 
plump  over.  You  are  going  to  give  and  I  want  you  to 
give  now." 


150  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

The  old  brother  joined  the  crowd  in  its  kindly  laughter 
and  said,  "I'll  give  you  twenty  dollars  just  to  get  rid  of 
you." 

"  Add  to  that,"  I  said,  *'five  dollars  for  each  one  of 
your  children" — he  was  blessed  with  quite  a  number — 
''  and  I  will  let  you  off  on  one  condition." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"That  the  church  appoint  you,"  I  replied,  "  as  a  dele- 
gate to  the  great  memorial  meeting  in  Eichmond  and  that 
you  will  promise  if  there  is  a  deficiency  when  we  get 
there  you  will  help  to  make  it  up." 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  said,  "  and  if  you  appoint  me  I  will 
be  there." 

He  was  appointed  on  the  spot  and  was  one  of  the  early 
arrivals  at  the  memorable  meeting. 

During  the  progress  of  that  great  convention  I  heard  a 
man  calling  me  on  the  street  and  it  proved  to  be  my 
whimsical  and  kind-hearted  Brother  Chappell. 

"  How  much  would  it  cost  me  to  send  Fuller  to  Eich- 
mond College  ?  "  he  gasped  out  as  he  ran  up  to  me. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  I.  "  What's  that  ?  You  hate  Eich- 
mond College,  so  I  have  been  told.'' 

"  I  thought  I  did,"  he  said,  "  but  since  I  got  up  here 
and  have  seen  it  all,  I  want  Fuller  to  go  there.  He  is  my 
baby  boy  ;  mighty  bright  and  I'd  be  real  proud  to  have 
him  in  the  college." 

A  new  warmth  for  the  old  brother  melted  my  heart, 
but  I  could  not  refrain  from  bantering  him  a  bit.  "  If 
you  wish  to  send  Fuller  to  college  in  a  penurious  and  skin- 
flint way,  it  would  not  cost  you  very  much,  but  I  wouldn't 
have  anything  to  do  with  it.  I  hardly  think  I  would 
speak  to  him  when  I  went  over  there.  But  if  you  will 
fix  him  up  right  and  send  him  in  a  gentlemanly  way 
I'll  bring  him  over,  start  him  in  and  treat  him  as  my 
boy." 


SEVEN  YEAES  IN  PETERSBURG        151 

*'  All  right,"  he  said,  'Til  have  him  up  in  Petersburg 
for  you  and  I  will  expect  you  to  do  right  by  the  boy." 

The  old  man  was  proud  out  of  measure  when  he  com- 
mitted the  boy  to  my  keeping  and  he  thought  that  Rich- 
mond College  was  about  next  door  to  the  Xew  Jerusalem. 
For  a  long  time  he  thought  that  he  hated  Richmond  Col- 
lege,— a  baseless  prejudice  which  melted  away  like  snow 
in  June  as  soon  as  he  changed  his  standpoint.  It  is  bad 
enough  to  be  the  victim  of  a  genuine  prejudgment  but  to 
fool  ourselves  with  imaginary  hatreds  is  ridiculous  and 
deplorable.  The  old  man  has  gone  the  way  of  the  earth 
and  I  always  think  of  him  as  one  who  was  spoiled  in  the 
making.  He  never  became  the  man  he  might  have  been 
and  yet  he  was  real  and  true,  and  faithful  so  far  as  he 
knew. 

About  this  time  I  attended  the  Southern  Baptist  Con- 
vention which  met  in  Augusta,  Ga.,  and  was  very  charm- 
ingly entertained  in  the  home  of  Judge  J.  C.  C.  Black,  at 
that  time  a  member  of  the  United  States  Congress.  Dur- 
ing dinner  one  day  he  said  to  me  that  there  was  a  gentle- 
man attending  the  convention,  a  resident  of  Georgia  but 
a  native  of  Virginia  who  knew  me  and  was  very  anxious 
to  meet  me.  It  was  agreed  he  would  bring  us  together. 
After  dinner  I  went  to  the  church  for  the  afternoon  ses- 
sion. Entering  the  lecture  room  I  was  greeted  by  a  well- 
rounded,  striking  looking  gentleman  with  the  question, 
^*  Do  you  know  me?  " 

I  looked  him  over  with  an  honest  desire  to  identify 
him,  but  I  had  to  tell  him  plainly  that  I  did  not  remem- 
ber him. 

He  seemed  a  trifle  mortified  and  asked  me  if  I  could 
remember  ever  having  met  a  youth  by  the  name  of 
Walter  Boykin.  A  cloudy  recollection  of  somebody  by 
that  name  flashed  through  my  memory  and  I  strove  with 


152  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

all  my  force  to  call  Walter  Boykin  out  of  the  shadows 
into  the  full  light  of  recoguition.  But  I  failed  utterly  in 
ideutifyiug  him  or  in  locatiug  even  his  name  with  any 
place  or  person.  It  hurt  me  to  say  so,  but  it  was  all  that 
I  could  say  truthfully.  This  time  there  was  a  sign  of 
petulance  in  the  gentleman  which  excited  my  self-re- 
proach and  yet,  do  what  I  would,  Walter  Boykin  stub- 
bornly refused  to  approve  himself  to  me  as  one  I  had 
known  in  former  days. 

Finally  and  somewhat  desperately  he  inquired  if  I  re- 
membered Chris  Boykin.  Then  it  struck  me  full  in  the 
face.  Instantly  there  arose  before  me  a  vivid  and  an  ever 
impressive  picture.  I  was  back  again  in  the  Tucker 
Swamp  Baptist  Church  in  Southhampton  County,  Vir- 
ginia. It  was  a  burning  season  in  August  and  I,  in  the 
absence  of  the  sick  pastor,  was  engaged  in  a  revival 
meeting, — a  meeting  of  surpassing  spiritual  power.  The 
morning  sermon  had  been  preached,  the  invitation  to  in- 
quirers had  been  given  and  accepted  by  many,  a  rich  old 
revival  song  was  rolling  in  holy  tumult  through  the 
church  and  the  power  of  the  Lord  was  upon  the  people. 
During  this  time  I  strolled  down  the  aisle  on  the  men's 
side  of  the  church  and  under  the  bend  of  the  little  gallery 
I  saw  a  boy  sitting  on  a  small  backless  bench  crying  with 
great  emotion.  The  little  fellow  was  possibly  fourteen. 
His  hair  was  red  almost  to  the  flaming  point,  his  face 
freckled  and  in  spite  of  his  tears  his  blue  eyes  were  full  of 
light.  Indeed  his  countenance  marked  him  as  a  boy 
above  the  ordinary.  His  intense  feeling,  his  open,  un- 
conscious and  anxious  crying  drew  me  quickly  to  his  side. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  boy  ?  "  I  inquired  in  kindly 
tone. 

"  I  want  to  be  a  Christian,''  he  said  with  conviction. 

* '  Did  you  not  hear  my  invitation  ?  "  I  inquired.  ^ '  Why 
^id  you  not  come? " 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        153 

'*  Yes,  sir,  I  heard  you,"  he  answered,  '^  and  I  wanted 
to  come,  but  I  want  my  brother  to  go  with  me. ' ' 

^'It  is  noble  in  you  to  feel  that  way,"  I  said  to  him, 
^'and  I  hope  your  brother  will  join  you  in  the  Christian 
life,  but  you  must  not  wait  for  him.  In  this  matter  each 
one  must  act  for  himself." 

"I  know  that;  but  still  I  would  like  for  brother 
Walter  to  go  when  I  go,"  he  said  rather  persistently. 

"Where  is  your  brother  Walter?"  I  inquired.  The 
little  fellow  turned  to  a  much  larger  boy  on  his  other  side 
and  for  the  first  time  I  discovered  that  he  had  his  right 
hand  projected  underneath  his  left  arm  and  was  grasp- 
ing the  hand  of  this  bigger  boy.  He  turned  with  surpass- 
ing tenderness  and  looked  at  the  large  fellow  and  said, 
"Here  he  is.  This  is  brother  Walter  and  I  want  him  to 
go  with  me.  Come  on,  brother  Walter,  and  let's  both  of 
us  go." 

The  appeal  was  thrilling  indeed ;  it  overwhelmed  me 
and  I  turned  and  told  Walter  that  I  did  not  see  how  he 
could  resist  the  affectionate  entreaty  of  his  brother. 

Walter  was  very  serious  and  full  of  respect  for  Chris. 
"I  ought  to  go,  I  know,"  he  said  slowly,  "but  it  looks 
as  if  I  cannot  go.  I  know  you  want  to  be  a  Christian, 
Chris,  and  you  are  a  better  boy  than  I  am.  You  can  go 
on  and  don't  wait  for  me." 

Chris  got  up  and  took  my  hand  and  went  up  the  aisle 
with  me.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  take  his  seat  at  the 
front  bench  he  whirled  rather  suddenly  and  went  back. 
I  let  him  go,  wondering  what  it  meant.  He  returned  to 
his  brother  and  got  up  in  his  lap  and  put  his  arms  around 
his  neck.  That's  all  I  know.  I  could  hear  nothing  that 
he  said,  but  I  knew  there  was  a  struggle  and  I  stood  off 
and  prayed  that  the  Lord  would  help  Chris.  Presently 
he  sprang  alertly  out  of  his  brother's  lap  and  he  looked 
like  a  new  Chris,  radiant  and  exultant.     Walter  rose  to 


154  ALONG  TPIE  TRAIL 

his  feet,  Chris  grasped  his  hand  and  up  they  came  to- 
gether. As  truly  as  Andrew  brought  Simon  to  Jesus,  I 
believe  it  might  be  said,  that  lad,  with  the  crimson  lock 
and  the  rich  blue  eyes,  brought  his  brother  Walter  to 
Jesus  ;  and  in  after  times  while  I  could  not  recognize  him 
as  I  much  regretted  my  inability  to  do,  so  I  was  glad  to 
hear  that  Walter  had  become  a  wealthy,  influential  and 
valuable  Christian  citizen  in  Georgia. 

This  story  being  historical  and  not  made  to  hand  refuses 
to  conclude  exactly  as  I  once  tried  to  make  it  do.  I  was 
preaching  once  at  the  ordination  of  a  young  minister  in 
the  Northern  Neck  of  Virginia  and  used  this  incident  to 
illustrate  that  a  very  ordinary  person  might  bring  an  ex- 
traordinary person  to  the  Saviour,  having  in  mind  at  the 
time  that  Andrew  brought  Simon  his  brother.  I  men- 
tioned how  I  had  met  Walter  Boykin  and  what  an 
eminent  man  he  was  becoming  and  then  added  that  I  had 
no  idea  on  earth  what  had  become  of  Chris.  Dr.  Geo.  Wm. 
Beale,  a  noble  Baptist  minister  of  Virginia,  was  present 
on  the  occasion  and  in  quick  response  to  my  reference  to 
Chris  said  from  his  seat,  ' '  Be  careful  what  you  say.  I  was 
the  pastor  of  Chris  at  Buchanan  for  a  number  of  years 
and  he  was  one  of  the  choicest  young  men  I  ever  knew 
and  is  still  busy  in  the  service  of  his  Lord.'^ 

No  wonder.  He  who  brings  one  to  the  Saviour  will 
only  whet  his  passion  for  soul  saving. 

It  was  also  during  this  pastorate  while  exceedingly 
busy  in  my  study  one  day  I  heard  a  gentle  rap  at  my 
door  and  upon  opening  it  I  found  one  of  my  little  Sunday- 
school  girls.  Her  presence  surprised  me,  for  it  was  a  week 
day  and  I  wondered  that  she  was  not  at  school.  I  asked 
her  how  it  was  that  she  had  found  time  to  come  to  see  me. 

*'0h,  doctor,"  she  said,  '^I  came  to  bring  you  good 
news.     This  morning  while  praying  in  my  room  I  found 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        155 

the  Saviour,  aud  mother  was  so  happy  about  it  that  she 
told  me  that  I  might  stay  away  from  school  aud  come 
dowu  aud  tell  you  all  about  it."  I  recall  eveu  uow  the  ra- 
diaut  light  upou  her  face  aud  the  joyous  siucerity  with 
which  she  told  her  stor3\  It  was  better  thau  a  book  on 
theology  to  mark  the  glow  of  religious  rapture  upou  her 
face.  Her  outspokeu  experieuces  bespoke  the  living 
Christ.  We  had  a  brief  prayer  of  thanksgiving  and  she 
indicated  that  her  visit  was  at  an  end.  I  bade  her  good- 
bye, saying  that  I  would  see  her  that  night,  for  we  were 
holding  revival  services  at  the  time.  She  made  no  reply 
and  I  repeated  that  I  would  see  her  that  night. 

^'I^ot  to-night,"  she  said,  and  her  face  took  on  a  sud- 
den shadow. 

"Not  coming'?"  I  said  with  unintentional  cruelty. 
"Do  you  not  desire  to  come  to  the  meeting? " 

I  saw  the  lines  of  suffering  on  her  face  and  her  lip 
quivered. 

'^Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I  would  like  above  everything  to  be 
here  to-night, ' '  she  said,  ' '  but  I  cannot  come.  This  morn- 
ing after  breakfast  I  asked  mother  if  I  might  go  across 
the  street  and  ask  a  lady  to  come  with  us  to  church  to- 
night. I  told  her  that  I  had  been  converted,  and  told  her 
about  the  meeting  aud  asked  her  to  come  with  us  to- 
night. She  told  me  that  she  would  come  but  she  was 
afraid  to  leave  her  baby  with  the  nurse,  and  I  said  that 
if  she  would  come  to  the  meetiug  I  would  stay  with  the 
nurse  and  help  take  care  of  the  baby." 

The  way  she  said  it  went  to  my  heart.  It  told  of  her 
childish  ardor,  her  genuine  zeal  and  of  the  Christlike 
self-denial  already  in  her  heart.  She  did  not  know  that 
she  had  done  a  brave  and  lofty  deed,  but  I  knew  it,  and  I 
looked  upon  her  with  wonder  and  with  love  as  she  shook 
my  hand  aud  flitted  on  light  feet  out  of  my  office. 

That  night  the  house  was  crowded  and  I  delivered  a 


156  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

brief  sermoD,  at  the  close  of  which  I  invited  inquirers  to 
come  forward.  The  front  pews  were  filled  with  inquirers 
and  among  them  a  lady  in  mourning  and  deeply  veiled. 
Approaching  her  I  expressed  pleasure  that  she  had  come 
and  a  desire  to  help  her. 

She  thanked  me  in  a  quiet  and  candid  voice  and  told 
me  not  to  concern  myself  about  her,  adding  that  she  was 
the  lady  that  little  Alice  Eobertson  had  told  me  about. 

''  Let  me  tell  you,"  she  said,  'Hhat  for  the  first  time  in 
all  my  life  my  heart  is  full  of  religious  peace  to-night. 
When  Alice  came  over  this  morning  and  told  me  about 
her  conversion,  it  greatly  impressed  me,  and  when  she  of- 
fered to  stay  and  care  for  my  baby  I  really  felt  that  God 
had  sent  her,  and  before  I  came  to-night  I  knew  that  my 
little  friend  had  led  me  to  salvation.  After  the  meeting 
is  over  I  will  need  to  talk  to  you  about  my  future,  but 
you  ought  to  go  now  and  give  the  help  to  these  others, 
which  Alice  brought  to  me  to-day." 

My  duties  were  driving  me  at  a  furious  rate  and  ex- 
cept a  few  words  which  I  had  with  the  lady  that  night  I 
knew  nothing  more  of  her  until  some  time  after  I  was  told 
that  her  husband  was  sick  and  had  expressed  a  desire  to 
see  me.  I  went  of  course  and  found  him  in  bed.  I  had 
not  seen  him  before  but  heard  that  he  was  a  wholesale 
liquor  merchant  and  utterly  regardless  of  religion. 
After  greeting  him  I  began  to  question  him  about  his 
sickness  but  he  cut  me  short.  "Never  mind  about  my 
sickness,"  he  said  brusquely  and  yet  with  feeling.  ''I 
have  deeper  troubles  than  any  my  sickness  could  bring. 
Since  that  little  Eobertson  girl  got  into  my  house  the 
other  day  things  have  gone  all  awry.  My  wife  is  quite 
another  woman  and  I  see  plainly  enough  that  if  I  am  to 
live  with  her  I  must  be  another  man  ;  but  how  can  I  ? 
Can  there  be  hope  for  such  a  man?  It  does  not  look 
that  way  to  me.     I  am  sick  with  my  trouble  and  I 


SEVEN  YEARS  IN  PETERSBURG        15Y 

thouglit  maybe  it  was  my  business.  I  hobbled  into  my 
buggy  yesterday  and  drove  to  the  store  and  told  my 
partner  that  I  would  never  come  into  that  house  again  ; 
that  the  business  I  would  leave  to  him  and  he  could  do 
what  he  pleased  with  it.  As  for  my  part  I  would  never 
sell  another  drop  of  whiskey  if  my  family  had  to  starve 
for  it.  I  little  know  what  will  come  of  my  action,  but  I 
am  done  with  whiskey  forevermore.  I  am  glad  of  my 
decision,  but  it  does  not  give  me  peace  and  I  thought  you 
could  help  me." 

Truly  he  was  a  fit  subject  for  the  Gospel  and  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  in  a  little  while  he  was  another  man  and 
he  has  been  ever  since. 

It  wasn't  long  afterwards  before  he  entered  the  mem- 
bership of  my  church.  We  needed  no  witnesses  to  tell  that 
he  and  his  wife  were  converted.  The  proofs  of  it  were 
written  all  over  their  lives  and  they  were  open  letters 
read  of  all  men  wherever  they  went.  For  a  time  he  was 
a  man  without  a  job  and  without  an  income,  but  business 
pursued  him,  threw  its  gates  open  to  him  and  prospered 
him  at  every  step.  He  and  his  wife  are  still  living.  Al- 
most boundless  prosperity  has  enriched  his  path.  He 
has  become  a  leader  among  men,  a  great  Bible  teacher, 
a  liberal  giver,  a  champion  of  every  great  enterprise  and 
one  of  the  truest  and  most  devoted  friends  that  God  has 
ever  given  me.  He  has  reared  a  large  family  and  many 
of  his  children  are  busy  and  efficient  in  the  service  of  the 
Lord.  Simon  Seward, — that  is  his  name,  and  he  and  his 
wife  walk  humbly  before  the  Lord  and  delight  in  His 
service  and  His  law.  Little  Alice  did  it.  In  her  own 
bright  and  loving  fashion  she  let  her  light  shine  and  they 
saw  it  afar  and  followed  it  and  it  led  them  into  the  king- 
dom. 


X 

TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY 

IT  was  on  the  fourth  Sunday  in  May,  1875,  that  I  en- 
tered formally  into  pastoral  relations  with  the  Grace 
Street  Baptist  Church,  and  on  the  fourth  Sunday  in 
May,  1901,  I  formally  closed  my  pastoral  relations  with 
that  church.  At  the  time  of  my  entrance  into  that 
pastorate  I  was  not  quite  forty-one  years  of  age,  and  the 
period  of  my  service  with  that  church  covered  the 
maturest  and  most  experienced  part  of  my  life.  It  was  a 
pastorate  of  great  burdens,  extraordinary  inspirations, 
fearful  embarrassments,  arduous  undertakings  and  many 
changes.  Some  asked  me  why  and  how  I  stayed  so  long. 
So  great  was  my  respect  for  that  church ;  so  profound 
was  my  conviction  that  my  work  was  there  and  so  de- 
lightful was  my  relationship  with  the  people  that  noth- 
ing else  on  earth  attracted  me.  It  is  no  vanity  whatever 
at  this  late  day  for  me  to  say  that  many  gates  opened  be- 
fore me ;  many  churches  asked  for  my  pastoral  services 
and  many  inviting  and  honorable  situations  sought  to 
woo  me,  but  my  heart  had  found  its  love  and  was  im- 
movable. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  did  my  work  as  well  as  I  could 
have  done  it.  In  that  respect  I  was  often  ashamed  dur- 
ing my  incumbency,  and  am  still  ashamed  that  I  did  not 
give  a  more  undivided  love  and  a  more  all-comprehend- 
ing service  to  that  queenly  church. 

I  have  sometimes  said  that  I  was  afraid  of  the  church 
and  truly  I  was, — not  sordidly,  not  for  fear  of  losing  my 
place,  but  I  could  not  endure  the  thought  of  wounding  or 

158 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        159 

displeasing  or  alienating  the  cliurcli.  For  many  years 
the  church  treated  me  as  its  sovereign,  freely  gave  me  my 
way,  showed  most  delicate  respect  for  my  wishes  and  was 
quick  to  follow  me  in  all  my  leadings,  but  never  did  I 
think  of  myself  as  the  master.  I  accounted  myself  my 
people's  servant  for  Christ's  sake  and  I  loved  to  please, 
not  as  with  eye  service,  but  with  sincerity  and  joy. 

The  church  lives  in  my  heart  to-day.  Its  honor  is 
dear  as  life  to  me  and  for  its  prosperity  I  cease  not  to 
pray. 

It  is  no  part  of  my  purpose  to  recite  the  story  of  my 
pastoral  career  with  the  Grace  Street  people.  In  Nov- 
vember,  1908,  the  church  celebrated  its  seventy-fifth 
anniversary  and  invited  me  to  deliver  a  reminiscent  ad- 
dress on  that  occasion.  That  address  I  venture  to  place 
in  this  volume  of  my  remembrances  of  a  life  extended 
beyond  all  of  my  expectations  and  hastening  now  to  its 
end. 

Twenty- Six  Yeaes  at  Grace  Street 
In  the  observance  of  its  seventy-fifth  anniversary  the 
Grace  Street  Church  honors  me  by  its  request  that  I  will 
take  part  in  its  jubilee  exercises.  The  specific  request  is 
that  I  will  present  in  an  address  my  recollections  of 
that  period  of  its  history  during  which  I  was  its  pastor. 
That  pastorate  commenced  in  May,  1875,  and  ended  in 
May,  1901,  covering  as  you  will  see  a  little  more  than  one- 
third  of  the  entire  lifetime  of  the  church  up  to  the  time 
of  my  resignation.  I  need  hardly  say  that  in  preparing 
my  recollections  the  work  has  been  one  of  ruthless  and  pain- 
ful elimination, — and  mutilation  as  well,  since  the  bare 
fragments  which  I  present  form  only  a  few  selections  from 
the  crowded  storehouse  of  my  memory. 

I  came  to  this  church  under  peculiar  circumstances.  My 
predecessor  had  resigned  some  time  before  under  factional 


160  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

pressure,  and  his  resignation  had  been  accepted.  There 
was,  however,  an  ill-suppressed  mutter  of  discontent  as  to 
the  situation,  and  when  the  committee  appointed  to  nomi- 
nate a  pastor  brought  in  my  name,  my  predecessor  was 
nominated  also  by  a  member  of  the  church,  and  when  the 
vote  came  I  was  left  ingloriously  in  the  lurch  ;  but  the  pas- 
tor reelect  felt  constrained  to  decline  the  call  and  my  name 
was  presented  again  and  I  received  all  the  votes  except 
one.  The  lonely  voter  was  one  of  the  regenerated  oddities 
of  the  human  race.  It  was  said  of  him  that  he  voted 
against  every  pastor  that  was  elected  during  his  lifetime 
and  then  with  equal  consistency  voted  against  the  resigna- 
tion of  every  pastor  when  it  was  presented.  He  met  me 
when  I  came  and  with  a  frankness  all  abristle  with  sharp 
points,  related  to  me  what  he  had  done,  and  I  told  him  that 
it  would  be  good  for  me  to  have  a  man  who  did  not  want 
me,  who  would  watch  me  and  mark  my  faults  and  walk 
around  and  duly  publish  them,  and  that  I  would  respect 
his  position  and  expect  him  to  do  his  duty.  He  was  a 
wood  dealer  and,  barring  some  absurd  prejudices  which 
were  never  bitter,  he  was  honest  to  the  bone  and  about 
as  advanced  a  specimen  of  facial  homeliness  as  it  was 
ever  my  painful  duty  to  know.  I  told  him  that  I  sus- 
pected him  of  swallowing  all  the  knots  and  crooked  sticks 
in  his  wood-pile  and  selling  all  the  rest  to  his  customers, 
and  as  his  office  stood  on  one  of  the  streets  which  I  often 
travelled  I  usually  peeped  in  and  dickered  and  wrangled 
with  him,  much  to  his  own  satisfaction.  One  day  he  saw 
me  passing  and  came  out  and  said,  ''  I  hear  some  of  them 
men  in  the  church  are  gettin'  after  you  and  it  is  like  'em 
to  do  it.  It  is  neither  here  nor  there  about  my  likin'  you, 
but  if  you  should  need  a  friend,  come  by  the  wood-yard 
and  you  can  get  anything  that's  here."  From  that  day 
he  would  have  died  for  me,  and  I  hardly  know  what  it 
was  that  I  would  not  gladly  have  done  for  him.     I  am 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        161 

glad  to-night  to  remember  that  ^hen  the  light  of  earth 
was  fading  from  him  and  he  was  consciously  planting  his 
feet  in  the  surges  of  the  Jordan  I  held  his  hand  and  got 
about  the  last  pressure  it  ever  gave  before  he  went. 

I  found  upon  my  arrival  here  a  great  church, — noble 
and  magnificent  in  some  things.  It  came  to  me  from  the 
hands  of  great  builders.  There  was  James  B.  Taylor,  the 
quiet,  indefatigable  and  sagacious  foundation  builder. 
He  was  really  the  man  who  put  the  first  organic,  con- 
structive and  cementing  imprint  upon  the  church.  He 
breathed  his  spirit  of  discretion,  honesty,  justice  and 
simplicity  in  the  church.  There  was  also  Kingsford,  the 
sarcastic  and  charming  Kingsford.  He  put  an  almost 
classic  touch  upon  the  church,  gave  it  a  revelation  of  the 
great  things  of  the  world,  gave  them  new  views  of  the 
Scriptures,  cut  their  faults  and  sins  into  tatters  and  lit 
the  King's  highway  with  truth  and  righteousness. 

Then  came  David  Shaver,  a  man  whose  speech  was 
muffled  by  throat  trouble,  a  philosopher  who  loved  his 
cave  and  not  the  highway  ;  but  who  was  a  great  thinker 
and  who  taught  the  people  to  think.  Then  came  Jeter, 
the  tall,  incorruptible,  gifted  and  self-trained  and  master- 
ful Jeter.  He  was  here  for  seventeen  years,  in  peace  and 
war.  He  was  a  princely  preacher  in  the  matter  of  open- 
ing the  Scriptures,  making  the  truth  luminous  and  win- 
some and  indoctrinating  his  people.  I  sat  under  his 
ministry  while  a  college  student  and  he  was  my  only 
theological  teacher, — at  least  he  and  Andrew  Fuller. 

And  then  there  was  my  predecessor  and  my  cherished 
friend.  Rev.  Dr.  K  W.  \Yilson.  He  was  born  an  orator. 
He  learned  by  instinct  rather  than  by  application.  He 
was  a  sweet  singer  and  an  entrancing  preacher.  He  filled 
the  house  with  an  admiring  audience,  and  though  not  a 
scholar  he  was  the  master  and  teacher  of  scholars  in  his 
pastorate  here.     These  are  not  all  the  men  who  worked 


162  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

as  overseers  in  this  spiritual  plant  before  I  came  this  way. 
There  were  others  who  had  brief  and  useful  pastorates 
here  but  I  am  constrained  to  omit  their  names.  You  can 
well  understand  that  a  church  transmitted  to  my  pastoral 
care  through  such  masterful  hands  was  strong,  well  es- 
tablished in  doctrine  and  capable  of  high  achievements. 
I  found  a  large  but  a  somewhat  fickle  congregation,  found 
a  membership  of  nearly  six  hundred,  but  the  pruning 
knife  soon  applied  took  off  about  one-fourth.  I  found  the 
church  amply  organized  but  not  without  heterogeneous 
and  conflicting  elements.  I  found  the  Sunday-school 
overflowing  but  suffering  for  class  rooms,  better  teachers 
and  larger  concert  in  action.  My  first  days  brought 
strain  and  anxiety.  The  recent  disturbances  entailed 
fearful  aftermaths  and  for  several  months  my  power  was 
small  and  my  hindrances  many  and  serious.  Death  came 
into  my  family  in  a  little  while  and  my  own  health  re- 
quired me  to  suspend  service  for  most  of  the  summer,  and 
about  all  that  I  accomplished  was  to  take  a  somewhat 
alarming  inventory  of  my  stock  in  trade  and  of  the 
stringent  demands  that  were  to  come  upon  me  and  to  be 
met. 

First  of  all  the  church  building  humiliated  me.  It  was 
worthy  of  the  times  which  brought  it  forth  and  it  had 
undergone  recent  enlargement,  but  its  architectural 
crimes,  its  lack  of  taste,  its  inadequacy,  its  contempt  for 
ventilation,  its  cuspidors,  the  treasure  and  comfort  of  the 
tobacco  lover  and,  above  all,  its  pew  system,  gave  me 
sickness  of  heart.  It  was  distinctly  a  people's  church 
and  in  a  little  while  it  was  inadequate  in  its  capacity  to 
seat  the  crowd.  In  no  great  while  we  were  smothered 
and  hindered  grievously  in  worship  for  lack  of  room. 

But  my  brethren  did  not  see  it  and  I  saw  that  I  could 
not  make  them  see  it  and  so  I  had  to  wait.  Finally  they 
decided  to  my  unfeigned  chagrin  to  repair  and  enlarge, 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        163 

and  the  result  was  a  bungling  job, — another  concatena- 
tion of  architectural  outrages.  The  changes  brought 
some  relief  and  the  turning  of  one  of  our  missions  into  a 
church  relieved  the  pressure  in  another  way.  But  even 
then  the  house  could  not  entertain  the  Sunday-school  nor 
do  justice  to  the  congregation.  Even  at  the  Lord's  Sup- 
per on  some  occasions  the  communicants  could  not  be 
crowded  into  the  auditorium  and  actually  overflowed  into 
the  gallery.  That  was  a  time  when  my  heart  often  failed 
and  yet  I  knew  that  I  had  to  wait.  Of  course  there  was 
a  noble  multitude  who  shared  in  these  anxieties  and  who 
yet  felt  that  the  Lord's  time  had  not  yet  come.  It  did 
come  and  of  that  I  will  tell  you  later. 

I  was  depressed  also  by  what  seemed  to  me  to  be  the 
barbed  wire  fences  which  were  built  around  the  church. 
It  was  openly  said  by  one  of  the  best  of  the  members  that 
we  ought  to  make  it  hard  for  people  to  get  into  the  church 
and  easy  to  get  out, — a  statement  smacking  of  wisdom 
and  yet  dangerous  and  almost  ruinous  in  its  application, 
and,  in  my  judgment,  false  in  its  nature. 

What  to  do  with  applicants  for  church  membership  is  a 
question  with  several  sides  to  it.  In  some  churches  the 
candidate  for  membership  is  lugged  in  bodily  before  the 
church  and  exposed  to  any  questions  that  anybody  may 
ask  ;  in  some  the  matter  is  left  to  the  pastor,  and  if  he  is 
efficient  and  level  in  his  character  his  testimony  in  the 
case  after  such  questioning  as  he  may  feel  necessary  in  the 
presence  of  the  church,  practically  decides  what  ought  to 
be  done  with  the  candidate.  In  other  cases  there  is  an  of- 
ficial meeting  and  the  applicant  is  informed  that  he  must 
confront  that  body  which  usually  consists  of  the  pastor 
and  other  officers  of  the  church  and  occasionally  a  few 
women  brought  in  in  cases  of  exigency.  Where  there  is 
harmony,  discretion,  intelligence  and  choice  Christian 
manners  well  mixed  in  such  a  counsel  it  may  do  tolerably 


164  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

well  ;  though  I  found  that  a  good  many  were  afraid  to 
face  such  a  formidable  array  of  inquisitors  and  we  lost 
some  good  people.  Practicall}^  it  had  no  effect  as  to  what 
the  result  would  be,  as  in  well-nigh  every  case  the  pastor's 
word  settled  the  matter  after  all.  In  my  case  I  found  an 
embarrassing  complexity  in  the  situation.  There  were 
some  of  the  officers  disgruntled,  captious,  rude  of  manner, 
and  the  tortures  to  which  they  subjected  many  applicants 
took  all  the  starch  out  of  me.  I  dreaded  the  council - 
chamber  and  went  to  it  like  one  crossing  the  bridge  of 
sighs.  Churches  must  do  as  they  please  about  this  mat- 
ter, but  my  experiences  favor  the  warmest  treatment  of 
the  convert.  When  he  comes,  let  everybody  talk  to 
him  and  grasp  his  hands  and  bathe  him  in  the  light  and 
love  of  Christian  sympathies  ;  make  it  easy  for  him  to 
come  and  when  he  comes  before  the  church  let  the  pastor 
emphasize  the  event,  tell  how  gracious  and  God-born  the 
church  is,  ask  questions  if  that  is  the  fitting  thing,  or  let 
the  applicant  tell  his  own  story  if  he  can  and  follow  his 
reception  with  all  the  demonstrations  of  welcome  and  con- 
fidence that  love  can  suggest. 

I  was  appalled  to  find  also  that  no  collection  could  be 
taken  in  the  church  except  by  vote  of  the  church  in  its 
monthly  business  meeting.  The  cordiality  with  which  I 
abhorred  that  trick  of  Satan  I  deem  to  this  day  highly 
creditable  to  my  character,  though  I  was  not  conspicuously 
courageous  in  openly  waging  battle  against  it.  But  I  can 
truly  say  that  never  Jesuit,  nor  juggler  ever  schemed 
more  tricks  for  avoiding  that  rule  than  I  did.  We  sus- 
pended it,  forgot  it,  postponed  it,  tried  to  amend  it,  made 
appeals  for  money,  told  them  that  it  was  unlawful  for 
them  to  hand  it  in,  but  there  was  a  table  in  front  of  the 
pulpit  and  that  it  would  hold  money  if  it  were  laid  upon 
it,  or  that  the  ushers  had  good  hearts  and  large  hands  and 
could  be  trusted.     I  brought  missionaries  there  unex- 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        1G5 

pectedly  and  they  told  their  story,  made  their  appeals  and 
I  with  the  neatest  style  of  ministerial  hypocrisy,  told  of 
the  infallible  and  unavoidable  rule  and  then  juggled  with 
the  crowd  and  the  missionaries  went  away  regretting  that 
there  could  be  no  collection,  but  with  their  pockets  bulg- 
ing with  money.  One  night  when  it  rained  and  the  strict 
constructionists  were  nursing  their  rheumatism  at  home 
we  punctured  that  rule  and  it  went  up  in  thin  air,  an  of- 
fering, I  hoi^e,  unto  the  Lord. 

Then  we  had  the  quorum  barbarism.  We  couldn't 
budge  a  peg  unless  we  had  twenty  men  present  and  then 
they  put  it  ui^  to  thirty  and  some  time  after  that  they  ran  it 
up  to  forty-five,  and  as  our  church  meetings  were  the  most 
irreligious  and  disagreeable  things  that  we  had  and  as  it 
was  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  get  forty-five  men  to 
come  on  the  same  night,  a  majority  of  our  church  meet- 
ings lapsed  and  those  of  us  who  were  there  held  a  prayer- 
meeting,  grew  in  grace  and  adjourned.  One  night  we  had 
a  quorum  and  a  brother  moved  that  we  reduce  it  to 
thirty  and  several  seconded  the  motion.  Another  moved 
to  make  it  twenty  and  the  seconders  grew  more  numerous  ; 
a  third  man  moved  fifteen  and  there  was  a  riot  of  seconds, 
and  I  said,  ''  Don't  let's  have  a  quorum,  and  if  the  mem- 
bers don't  come  the  pastor  and  the  sexton  will  look  after 
the  best  interests  of  the  church."  They  jumjDcd  at  my 
suggestion  and  had  about  as  fine  a  jollification  as  any  lot 
of  college  fellows  ever  did,  and  from  that  time  we  had 
church  meetings,  made  up  of  lovers  of  the  church,  big, 
lusty,  busy  and  truly  evangelistic  church  meetings.  I 
felt  that  the  millennium  was  dawning. 

Then  there  was  the  pew  system.  We  had  far  more  folks 
than  seats,  and  yet  a  few  crusty,  jagged,  scowling  pew- 
holders,  who  usually  came  late  and  often  slept  well  after 
they  arrived,  would  now  and  then  find  their  pews  occu- 
pied by  innocent  strangers,  and  they  wSuld  drench  them 


166  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

with  vinegar  and  other  acids  of  the  figurative  sort.  And 
then  there  would  be  hurtful  murmuring.  The  bulk  of  the 
members  had  no  pews,  and  they  had  to  give  in  one  way  and 
the  pewholders,  a  privileged  class,  gave  in  another  way, 
and  neither  class,  or  the  two  together,  gave  enough  to  run 
the  church.  About  this  matter  I  talked  much  with  the 
Lord  and  much  with  the  brethren,  and  at  a  meeting  full 
of  spiritual  juice  and  brotherly  love,  I  got  an  humble 
brother  to  move  that  the  pew  system  be  knocked  over  on 
the  other  side  of  eternity,  or  words  to  that  effect,  and  I 
fairly  fainted  for  joy.  There  was  not  one  opposing  vote, 
and  I  knew  then  that  the  kingdom  of  God  was  coming  on 
faster  and  faster. 

I  ought  to  say^  in  closing  this  part  of  my  subject,  that 
I  found  in  the  church  a  faction, — a  faction,  small,  solid 
and  fractious  to  the  point  of  politics  and  war.  It  was  a 
thing  of  long  standing,  and  old  Dr.  Jeter  told  me  that  it 
struck  him  rude,  unmannered  blows,  and  it  embittered  the 
last  days  of  my  predecessor  and  really  led  the  movement 
for  his  ejection.  It  was  on  the  fence  when  I  got  there, 
and  lit  off  on  my  side  and  sampled  me,  amply  coddling 
and  feasting  and  flattering  me  during  the  time.  I  put  in 
all  my  arts  in  the  way  of  conciliation,  and  had  enough 
stupid  vanity  to  think  that  I  was  born  for  such  a  time  as 
that,  but  before  I  got  through  with  it  I  almost  wished  that 
I  had  not  been  born  at  all.  .  .  .  They  had  certain 
cherished  crotchets  which  they  desired  my  aid  in  trans- 
muting into  church  laws,  and  there  were  also  certain  in- 
fluential members  in  the  church  who,  in  their  judgment, 
were  al togeth er  too  active  in  governmental  m atters.  More 
than  all  I  was  gradually  developing  individual  character- 
istics, lines  of  policies,  and  committing  business  blunders 
that  they  felt  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  that  they 
should  supervise,  correct  or  quietly  exterminate.  The 
outcome  of  it  all  was  that  I  could  not  spend  the  same  night 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        167 

in  two  camps  though  I  was  quite  willing  to  go  back  and 
forth  several  times  before  bedtime.  This  did  not  satisfy, 
and  soon  the  blast  of  their  hostile  trumpet  gave  forth  its 
shriek.  The  war  was  on  and  for  nearly  ten  years  my  feet 
trod  the  thorny  path.  The  faction  never  rose  to  the  dig- 
nity of  a  party,  never  had  much  gathering  force  and  was 
always  afraid  of  a  trial  of  strength  on  a  public  occasion. 

It  was,  however,  rampant,  incessant  and  aggressive  in 
its  talk,  deadly  in  its  inquisitorial  watchfulness  over  my 
official  and  private  behavior,  quick  to  take  up,  exagger- 
ate and  overcolor  my  faults,  always  ready  to  chill  or  block 
movements  which  I  suggested  or  approved,  and  exceed- 
ingly careful  and  shepherdlike  in  their  attention  to  any 
of  my  flock  that  suffered  any  real  or  fancied  neglect  on 
my  part.  It  would  hardly  be  too  much  to  say  that  there 
were  silent  movements  to  block  the  financial  machinery 
of  the  church  and  thus  make  me  '^non  grata"  on  the 
score  of  not  making  the  church  pay  expenses,  and  even  the 
revivals  were  derided,  the  converts  criticized  and  ever  so 
many  streams  of  cold  water  turned  on  in  a  way  that  put 
things  at  disadvantage.  If  some  church  chanced  to  call 
me,  the  fact  was  eagerly  seized,  and  the  report  was  sent 
forth  swift-footed  that  I  was  planning  to  leave,  and  that 
victory  would  perch  over  their  banners  and  that  peace 
would  come  home  to  live. 

But  somehow  I  did  not  feel  disposed  to  go  ;  a  thousand 
times  I  asked  the  Lord  to  let  me  stay,  sometimes  asking 
that  if  He  could  lighten  up  the  pressure  a  little  that  I 
would  be  greatly  obliged,  but  be  the  pressure  what  it 
might,  I  still  pled  often  and  fervently  that  I  might  not 
have  to  go.  Possibly  my  self-respect  revolted  at  the 
thought  of  being  ignominiously  dislodged  and  of  going 
out  under  compulsion,  but  in  the  sober  review  of  this 
critical  period  of  my  pastorate,  I  think  I  can  truly  tell  you 
to-day  that  there  was  very  little  that  was  personal  in  my 


1G8  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

stroDg  desire  not  to  be  driven  out  by  factional  antago- 
nisms. I  felt  that  it  would  be  the  triumph  of  a  faction  that 
ought  not  to  rule ;  I  felt  that  I  would  count  it  a  great 
favor  if  the  Lord  would  let  me  stay  and  see  the  end  of  it. 

I  ought  to  be  candid  enough  to  say  that  I  was  just  as 
anxious  for  the  factionists  not  to  go  as  I  was  to  remain 
on  deck  myself.  It  was  never  in  my  schedule  to  bring 
about  their  ejection  nor  their  dex)arture.  I  wanted  the 
faction  dissolved  and  its  members  sobered  and  sweetened 
and  for  peace  and  fellowshiiD  to  be  fully  restored. 

Finally  the  situation  grew  unbearably  acute,  and  things 
were  done  that  I  would  not  dare  to  tell.  They  were  too 
bad  to  tell,  and  showed  what  good  men  would  do  when 
untracked  and  reckless.  Events  were  so  serious  and  fierce 
that  they  brought  me  to  a  pause.  I  took  my  burden  again 
to  the  throne  and  asked  for  instructions.  For  the  first 
time  I  felt  willing  to  go  if  the  Lord  indicated  clearly 
enough  that  it  was  His  will  for  me  to  go,  though  to  save 
my  life  I  could  not  feel  that  it  would  be  the  best  for  me 
to  be  eliminated  under  the  dictation  of  that  faction. 
Hays  of  humble  inquiry  went  slowly  by  and  there  came 
to  me  a  most  attractive  and  interesting  call.  I  had  asked 
the  Lord  if  He  would  have  me  go  to  open  the  gate,  and 
now  the  gate  was  open  with  a  most  attractive  offer  in 
sight.  It  brought  me  to  the  verge  of  surrender,  but  I  took 
two  weeks  to  think,  to  weigh,  to  cry  and  to  decide,  and 
one  morning,  when  the  situation  was  never  more  complex 
or  menacing,  I  decided  that  I  must  stay.  Of  all  this 
not  a  member  of  the  church  knew  one  single  item,  and  it 
looked  as  if  I  had  offered  myself  almost  wantonly  as  a 
victim  to  the  machinations  and  asperities  of  this  opposi- 
tion. That  night  in  the  prayer-meeting  those  who  for  so 
many  years  had  blocked  my  way  and  embittered  my  ex- 
istence one  after  another  quietly  laid  down  their  arms 
and  declared  their  loyalty  to  me  as  their  pastor  and  their 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        169 

readiness  to  work  with  me  in  the  future.  There  it  was,— 
the  end ;  it  had  come  in  a  moment,  unannounced,  and 
was  greeted  on  my  part  with  no  noisy  demonstrations,  no 
thought  of  victory  in  my  soul,  but  boundless  gratitude  to 
God  and  with  a  confidence  renewed  in  simplest  terms  with 
those  who  had  fought  me.  The  war  was  over  and  I  was 
there. 

(It  so  chanced  when  this  address  was  made  in  the 
Grace  Street  Baptist  Church,  a  score  of  years  after  the 
foregoing  events  had  closed,  that  the  chief  of  all  this  great 
offending  was  sitting  on  the  platform  not  far  from  the 
speaker,  and  it  was  quite  clear  that  the  bulk  of  the  older 
people  were  keenly  cognizant  of  the  actual  situation. 
The  speaker  closed  his  reference  to  this  memorable  ex- 
perience in  his  pastorate  by  saying,  '' Those  were  preg- 
nant and  stressful  days  in  my  existence.  The  plowshare 
was  in  my  soul  for  a  decade  and  life  hung  trembling  on 
the  verge  of  tragedy.  There  were  men  who  gave  me 
trouble  and  there  sits  near  me  now  the  chieftain  of  that 
wasting  strife.  I  could  not  give  my  recollections  without 
saying  here  before  him  and  before  this  great  multitude 
that  he  was  to  me  a  trial  long  drawn  out,  and  yet  as  I 
weigh  the  past,  I  do  not  believe  I  ever  lost  my  respect  for 
him,  though  I  may  have  mislaid  it  more  than  once,  and  I 
am  sure  that  I  did  not  lose  absolutely  my  faith  in  his 
Christian  character,  though  it  shook  many  a  time  and 
times  upon  times,  I  told  the  Lord  that  if  He  did  not  prop 
it  up  it  would  inevitably  break  into  a  hopeless  ruin. 
After  the  end  came  I  told  him  privately  that  I  had  gone 
through  my  heart,  searching  every  corner  and  crevice, 
and  that  I  found  nothing  there  that  would  interfere  with 
our  fullest  fellowship  and  our  freest  cooperation  in  all 
good  works,  and  I  can  say  to  him  to-day  after  the  years 
have  lapsed  away,  that  I  cherish  for  him  genuine 
brotherly   love   and  account  him  among  that  circle  of 


170  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

friends  whom  I  can  trust  without  a  misgiving.  I  hold 
up  my  right  hand  before  him  declaring  that  in  its  grasp 
there  is  friendship  and  brotherhood  untainted  by  one 
unhappy  memory;'^  whereupon  this  gentleman  sprang 
to  his  feet,  walked  forward  and  exchanged  with  the 
speaker  a  cordial  hand-grasp.  It  was  an  episode  that 
will  constitute  a  part  of  the  permanent  history  of  that 
church.) 

What  kept  things  going  and  that  too  at  a  clipping  rate 
was  the  operative  godliness  of  the  people.  The  preemi- 
nent characteristic  of  the  church  was  its  converting 
power.  Every  year  at  least  there  were  great  ingather- 
ings. The  membership  multiplied  apace.  Scores  of  visit- 
ors and  strangers  came  to  the  church  and  under  its  grate- 
ful spiritual  atmosphere  they  accepted  Christ  and  we  had 
a  peculiar  constituency  of  that  sort,  members  of  which  I 
found  in  many  places.  The  church  sent  out  two  full- 
fledged  churches  during  my  pastorate,  and  they  went  out 
without  ajar  and  with  the  cordial  affection  of  the  mother. 
They  went  enriched  with  gifts  as  brides  go  from  their 
father's  house  blessed  with  approval  and  crowned  with 
gifts.  Several  other  churches  were  organized  in  our  part 
of  the  city  which  received  their  largest  contingents  from 
us.  Young  men  and  young  women,  boys  and  girls  poured 
in  year  after  year  and  then  the  young  men  went  towards 
every  point  of  the  compass  to  try  their  fortunes  under 
new  skies  and  our  magnificent  young  women,  full  of 
church  ardor,  trained  in  many  phases  of  Christian  service 
and  untainted  by  worldly  frivolities,  won  husbands  from 
afar  and  went  away  to  build  up  the  kingdom  of  God  in 
other  places. 

During  my  ministry  I  had  noble  ministerial  brethren, 
men  like  Frank  M.  Ellis,  A.  E.  Owen,  H.  M.  Wharton 
and  George  C.  Needham  to  help  in  our  harvest  work. 
But  there  was  really  no  great  need  for  helpers.     The 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        171 

churcli  was  a  great  spiritual  breeder ;  its  spiritual  fe- 
cundity was  a  wonder  and  it  was  only  necessary  to  watch 
the  signs,  mark  the  season,  call  them  together  and  sound 
the  gospel  trumpet  and  the  work  began.  Most  of  the 
time  we  had  no  choir  ;  a  little  organ  stood  in  the  corner 
and  my  own  half-grown  boy  gave  the  accompaniment  and 
my  soul's  delight,  Haddon  Watkins,  struck  the  tunes  and 
the  crowd,  each  with  a  hymn  slip  in  his  hand,  joined  in 
the  song  and  sent  wonderful  praises  up  to  God.  Ofttimes 
and  for  years  all  helps  would  fail  us  and  then  I  struck 
the  tune  and  the  congregation  was  so  sympathetic  that,  if 
cheered  on,  their  choral  songs  rang  almost  with  the  thun- 
der notes  of  Niagara,  and  if  the  hint  was  given  the  song 
would  be  hushed  to  such  softness  and  such  wondrous 
sweetness  that  it  was  like  a  far-off  strain  of  the  choirs  of 
heaven.  That  soft  singing  was  a  part  of  the  equipment 
and  power  of  the  church.  It  ought  to  be  added  that 
Haddon  Watkins,  the  matchless  master  of  the  spiritual 
solo,  was  a  great  converting  force  and  not  at  Grace  Street 
only  but  far  and  wide,  in  town  and  country,  I  often  called 
him  to  help  me  charm  the  people  out  of  the  world  and 
into  the  kingdom  of  God. 

The  constituency  of  the  church  was  unusually  interest- 
ing. It  had  its  three  classes  in  about  equal  proportion. 
There  was  first  of  all  its  high  people.  They  were  the 
scholarly  people,  the  professional  people  and  the  aspiring 
people.  Many  of  these  were  of  noble  social  character  but 
they  never  figured  among  the  stilted,  fashionable,  indul- 
gent and  pretentious  people  who  considered  themselves 
the  exclusive  '4t.^'  The  fact  is  that  our  high  people 
were  high  chiefly  in  their  intelligence,  their  lofty  virtue 
and  their  decided  spiritual  activity  and  serviceableness. 

Then  down  at  the  bottom,  as  some  would  say,  were  our 
poor.  They  who  lived  on  the  back  streets  and  they  in 
the  little  houses  ;  whose  wives  did  the  cooking  and  right 


172  ALONG  THE  TKAIL 

often  the  washing  and  whose  husbands  were  day-laborers 
in  the  foundries,  the  factories,  the  shops, — men  and 
women  both  whose  Saturday  night  money  fed  them  the 
next  week.  There  were  many  of  these  and  yet  very  few 
were  poor  enough  to  need  the  bounty  of  the  church.  I 
do  not  know  that  the  church  spent  more  than  a  thousand 
dollars  in  a  year  on  its  needy  members  and  yet  the  church 
had  quite  a  fame  for  taking  ample  care  of  its  poor.  The 
bulk  of  these  whom  we  called  the  poor  had  an  element  of 
thrift ;  they  saved  something  week  by  week,  they  got  into 
the  savings'  banks,  bought  their  little  lots,  presently 
building  their  little  houses,  and  before  you  knew  it  they 
had  something  for  a  rainy  day.  They  were  great  on  the 
Sunday-school,  faithful  at  the  Sunday  meetings  and  it 
was  enough  to  make  any  pastor  proud  to  have  their  love 
and  also  to  see  their  passionate  devotion  to  their  church. 
When  I  got  lonesome  and  couldn't  make  my  sermons  I 
plunged  out  among  these  people  and  always  came  back 
laden  with  spiritual  spoils  and  preached  much  better  the 
next  Sunday  under  the  warmth  of  my  experiences  during 
the  week. 

But  the  great  bulk  of  the  people  belonged  to  class 
number  three.  They  were  the  merchants,  real  estate  men, 
contractors,  clerks,  travellers,  lumber  dealers,  grocers, — 
none  of  them  capitalists  exactly,  but  they  worked  hard 
during  the  week,  made  money  in  a  clean  way,  stood  by 
the  church  in  sunshine  and  storm  and  gave  their  money 
in  a  way  that  kept  me  continually  proud  of  them.  After 
the  reign  of  the  faction,  or  rather  the  worry  of  it,  I  ac- 
counted the  church  about  ideal.  Prof.  H.  H.  Harris, 
one  of  the  greatest  men  we  ever  had,  said  that  it  was  so 
lovely  to  be  a  member  of  Grace  Street  that  he  was  afraid 
that  the  contrast  would  not  be  distinct  enough  when  he 
got  to  heaven.  Eich  and  poor  met  together ;  high  and 
low  walked  to  and  from  thehouse  of  God  in  happy  fel- 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        173 

lowship ;  old  and  young  vied  with  each  other  in  helping 
on  the  good  work.  When  I  was  installed  as  pastor,  the 
former  pastor  said  that  I  would  not  find  the  membership 
made  up  of  angels,  and  for  ten  years  I  thought  his  re- 
mark, in  part  at  least,  was  painfully  true,  but  after  all  he 
was  mistaken.  Of  course  the  love  I  had  for  my  people 
overflowed  all  measures  and  defied  all  limits.  As  for  the 
men, — oh,  how  courtly,  genial,  trustful  and  frank  they 
were  with  me.  They  quarrelled  with  me  considerably 
about  going  away  and  then  freely  forgave  me  when  I  got 
back.  They  voted  me  all  the  vacation  that  I  would  take 
and  hung  around  me  like  brothers, — they  were  all 
brothers,  twin  brothers,  brothers  forever  of  mine. 

Now  Gabriel  and  some  of  the  other  notable  angels  I 
dare  say  know  how  to  do  fine  things  better  than  my  men 
did,  but  my  men  suited  me.  They  voted  me  the  freedom 
of  the  church,  differed  with  me  whenever  they  chose  and 
never  failed  to  do  what  I  asked.  But  as  for  the  women, 
I  confess  they  were  very  tyrannical.  They  ordered  me 
to  do  whatever  they  wanted, — anything  from  an  annual 
sermon,  an  unlawful  notice,  or  twenty  visits  a  day  where 
they  thought  I  ought  to  go  in  obedience  to  an  imperious 
command,  to  a  tailor's  shop  to  get  my  proportions  taken 
for  something  handsome  at  their  expense.  If  my  men 
grew  torpid  and  slow  the  women  were  my  refage.  If 
things  needed  changing  about  the  church  I  gave  my 
modest  nod  to  the  ladies, — angels  of  love,  of  mercy  and 
of  speedy  service  they  were.  They  only  had  to  start  a 
thing  and  get  to  talking  and  the  men,  heavy  footed  before, 
brisked  up  and  fell  in  and  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  we 
could  do  anything  on  earth  we  wished. 

But  let  me  get  away  from  this.  My  enchanted  memory- 
would  gladly  linger  here  forever. 

Possibly  here,  as  well  as  anywhere,  I  might  pause  to 
call  a  few  names  that  ought  at  least  to  be  mentioned  on 


174  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

an  occasion  like  this, — men  and  women  who  sat  under 
my  ministry,  so  sadly  unworthy  of  them.  Dr.  J.  B.  Taylor 
was  gone,  but  his  venerable  wife  and  his  daughters  were 
here  and  their  memory  is  one  of  the  crowns  of  this  church 
that  will  hardly  ever  fade.  Dr.  J.  B.  Jeter,  when  I  came, 
was  here  in  his  later  prime, — tall,  well  rounded,  with 
hair  like  snow,  with  a  swing  and  bound  worthy  of  a  boy. 
He  was  then  at  the  full  tide  of  his  editorial  glory,  the 
central  figure  of  Virginia  Baptists,  with  a  soul  so  cheery 
that  discouragements  cheered  him.  He  had  a  lovely  and 
a  somewhat  awful  frankness.  ^ '  You  preached  a  noble  ser- 
mon yesterday,"  he  said  to  me  one  Monday  morning,  and 
of  course  I  was  human.  And  then  he  added,  "But  the 
sermon  you  preached  yesterday  week  in  my  humble 
judgment  was  one  of  the  most  hopelessly  mean  sermons 
that  I  ever  heard  anybody  preach."  I  loved  him  in  one 
part  of  my  soul  that  day  and  kept  the  other  locked  up. 
There  was  Dr.  Alfred  E.  Dickinson,  a  man  immensely 
strong  in  some  things  and  not  strong  at  all  in  others,  but 
withal  one  of  the  most  entertaining  and  brilliant  para- 
graphists  that  ever  enriched  a  newspaper.  There  was 
A.  B.  Brown ; — oh,  my  incomparable  brother !  Frail 
was  his  body,  ill-shapen  his  face,  weak  and  faltering  his 
gait,  but  an  intellectual  colossus ;  a  philosopher  and  a 
man  whose  modesty  and  courtesy  and  patience  under 
trial  marked  him  for  the  gallery  of  God's  masterpieces. 
I  name  Herbert  H.  Harris  again,  the  unrivalled  Bible 
class  teacher,  the  ever  wise  counsellor  of  this  church. 
He  died  away  from  Richmond  but  his  silent  form  came 
back  to  his  church  and  boundless  honors  crowned  him  as 
he  went  away  to  his  reward. 

The  list  of  ministers  who  worshipped  with  us  is  too 
long  to  be  called  and  I  must  pass  it  by  to  call  up  min- 
isters born  in  this  church,  or  sent  out  by  it. 

Take  Derieux  whose  life  is  an  evangel  and  whose  min- 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        1T5 

istry  is  enriched  by  his  own  grace  and  unction  ;  or 
Carter  Jones,  the  inimitable  pulpit  orator  of  our  Southern 
ministry,  and  E.  Pendleton  Jones,  attractive  as  a  minister 
and  almost  peerless  as  a  pastor ;  or  take  James  Taylor 
Dickinson,  who  stands  among  the  foremost  in  our  denomi- 
nation at  the  North,  or  George  Braxton  Taylor,  as  modest 
as  he  is  scholarly,  as  efficient  as  he  is  unassuming,  pure 
and  gentle  as  a  woman,  vigorous  and  powerful  with 
tongue  and  pen, — a  leader  and  an  example  among  us  ;  or 
Wirt  Trainham,  approved  of  God,  successful  wherever  he 
has  been  ;  or  E.  B.  Hatcher,  who  would  hardly  speak  to 
his  father  if  his  father  undertook  to  speak  for  him  at  such 
a  time  as  this ;  or  Arthur  Cox,  devout  and  full  of  holy 
energy,  and  though  his  lot  is  cast  afar,  his  loyal  heart 
often  brings  him  home  ;  or  Aubrey  Williams,  whose  star 
is  ever  in  the  ascendency  and  whose  good  works  are  his 
sufficient  testimonial  j  or  J.  P.  Essex,  whose  fruitful  min- 
istry gives  ample  ground  for  all  the  pride  we  feel  in  him  ; 
or  our  own  loved  or  somewhat  lost  Gardner,  whose  only 
fault  was  that  he  was  too  stroug  for  us  to  be  able  to  hold 
him,  and  of  course  and  by  all  means  our  own  beloved 
pastor  D.  M.  Ramsey,  one  of  the  best  of  all  and  largely 
because  the  church  made  him  what  he  is  and  brought 
him  here  for  what  he  is  able  so  well  to  do.  But  I  must 
not  omit  the  youngest  in  the  household,  the  boy  of  my  de- 
light, Thos.  Y.  McCaul,  who  started  without  a  dollar, 
took  Richmond  College  honors,  went  to  Louisville  and 
graduated  there  and  came  back  to  get  all  that  our  state 
university  could  confer  upon  him. 

May  our  ministerial  tribe  never  grow  less  but  rather 
multiply  and  refresh  the  earth  and  lead  the  way  to 
heaven. 

I  tremble  to  mention  the  men  with  whom  I  have  taken 
sweet  counsel  in  the  past,  and  if  I  do  mention  a  few  and 
pass  over  the  many,  think  not  that  I  have  forgotten  them  j 


176  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

remember  the  hour  is  far  spent  and  I  must  not  make 
shii^ wreck  of  your  patience.  I  must  call  the  name  of  the 
senior  deacon,  who  welcomed  me  here, — Wellington 
Goddin,  an  amiable,  home-loving,  open-handed  brother. 
He  gave  his  money,  his  life,  his  family  to  this  church. 
There  used  to  sit  with  him  in  our  official  council -chamber 
when  I  first  came,  Henderson,  Jacobs,  Evans,  Glazebrook 
and  Minor.  Minor  was  the  man  of  prayer  and  of  the 
gentle  mien,  and  all  believed  in  him.  There  came  a 
troop  of  them  later,  Ellett,  chairman  for  quite  a  while. 
Crump,  the  shrinking,  the  refined  and  the  faithful ; 
Pilcher,  brought  up  in  the  church,  long  the  leader  in  the 
music  and  faithful  teacher  in  the  Sunday-school,  Otway 
Brown,  with  many  infirmities  of  body  but  of  a  lordly 
and  faithful  soul  and  served  as  deacon,  clerk  and  super- 
intendent, and  Dr.  H.  W.  Davis,  my  boy  friend  at  college, 
converted  under  my  eyes  and  as  true  a  man  as  ever 
entered  the  doors  of  this  church ;  and  Wm.  R.  Jones, 
who  remembered  for  me  the  things  that  I  was  likely  to 
forget,  who  had  a  godly  stubbornness  and  with  whom  I 
found  more  pleasure  in  wrangling  than  I  did  with  some 
who  always  agreed  with  me,  and  Geo.  R.  Pace,  whom  I 
loved  when  I  was  at  college,  who  gave  me  his  full  heart 
and  who  never  fell  short  in  any  duty  through  his  own 
neglect ;  and  many  more  I  love  though  unmentioned 
here. 

But  the  friend  of  friends  whose  home  was  mine,  whose 
children  were  as  my  own,  whose  love  was  immeasurable, 
whose  steadfastness  and  help  largely  held  me  up,  El- 
dridge  Marcellus  Foster,  to-night  looks  down  from  the  hills 
of  glory  and  my  soul  salutes  him. 

Think  not  that  to-night  I  can  fail  to  mention  that 
lovely  and  ever  interesting  feature  of  my  Grace  Street 
pastorate, — My  Boys'  Meeting.  It  was  born  December, 
1876,  and  departed  this  life  in  May,  1901.     It  was  a  boys* 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        177 

affair  but  it  was  twenty-five  years  and  a  half  old  when  it 
passed  away.  It  was  the  perpetual  fountain  of  youth, 
and  at  that  fountain  I  drank  freshness  and  bliss  every 
Sunday  afternoon.  They  raised  over  $10,000  during 
their  lifetime,  and  on  one  occasion  at  least,  when  the 
church  was  in  a  financial  strait,  they  graciously  loaned  to 
her  four  hundred  dollars  to  help  her  along  with  her  cur- 
rent expenses.  My  boys  often  delighted  great  throngs 
with  their  entertainments  ;  they  always  enriched  the  ex- 
ercises of  our  Sunday-school  anniversaries,  and  groups  of 
them  went  far  and  wide  with  their  speeches,  their  dia- 
logues and  their  music,  ever  ready  to  lend  a  helping  hand. 
For  years  they  thronged  the  front  pews  of  the  church  and 
were  my  best  listeners  and  among  my  sweetest  singers, 
and  as  for  order  they  were  next  to  perfection.  Out  of 
that  meeting  went  hundreds  of  men  true,  not  ashamed  of 
their  religion,  well  thought  of  far  and  wide,  and  it  used  al- 
most to  fill  me  with  unseemly  pride  to  know  that  a  boy 
that  belonged  to  '  *  Dr.  Hatcher's ' '  boys  rarely  found  it  hard 
to  get  a  place.  In  these  later  days  I  travel  much  and  go 
afar  and  whether  it  be  on  boat  or  train  or  in  the  hotel  or 
in  some  church,  be  it  in  the  North  or  the  South  or  in  the 
West  I  never  get  out  of  sight  of  my  constituents,  my 
noble,  loyal  and  faithful  boys.  Here  to-night  I  stood 
upon  this  platform  and  saw  them  crowd  in,  scores  and 
hundreds,  and  while  now  they  are  men,  brave,  godly  men 
and  only  a  fair  sample  of  multitudes  of  others  like  them, 
they  are  still  my  boys  and  I  almost  believe  they  will  still 
be  so  in  that  world  where  we  can  have  a  far  greater  re- 
union than  that  it  moves  me  so  to  see  to-night.  If  I 
could  call  the  roll  they  would  answer  from  almost  every 
part  of  the  earth,  and  some  already  glorified  would  answer 
from  out  the  windows  of  heaven  through  which  they  look 
out  upon  us  to-night. 

I  must  also  be  permitted  to  add  that  I  had  another 


178  ALONG  THE  TEAIL 

band  of  boys,  and  that  the  students  of  Richmond  College. 
For  much  of  my  pastorate  the  bulk  of  them  attended  our 
church.  They  came  in  troups  to  the  Sunday-school  and 
used  to  throng  into  my  congregations.  A  great  number 
of  them  I  baptized  with  my  own  hands,  and  perhaps  even 
more  of  them  were  converted  here  who  joined  the 
churches  elsewhere.  There  too  were  a  multitude  of 
ministerial  students,  the  majority  of  whom  constitute  now 
the  bone  and  sinew  of  our  Virginia  ministry,  and  others 
of  them,  a  blessed  contingent,  are  scattered  all  over  our 
republic  and  some  of  them  beyond  the  seas.  They  were 
an  inspiring  element  in  our  congregation,  and  so  far  as  I 
know  their  love  for  this  old  church  knows  no  abatement 
and  without  an  exception  so  far  as  I  recall,  I  have  in  each 
one  of  them  a  younger  brother,  faithful  and  full  of  com- 
fort to  me.  It  would  not  be  fair  if  I  did  not  add  even 
yet  that  troops  of  boys  from  the  medical  colleges  often 
came  in  with  us,  and  in  my  travels  I  am  constantly  meet- 
ing these  students,  now  efficient,  and  in  many  cases 
eminent  physicians,  doing  their  work  and  serving  their 
generation.  With  the  grasp  of  their  hand  always  come 
fine  words  about  this  old  church  and  the  good  they  got 
here. 

But  I  promised  a  word  in  regard  to  our  church  build- 
ing. From  the  day  I  got  here  I  purposed  in  my  heart  to 
build  a  house  unto  the  Lord,  just  as  David  did,  and  I 
greatly  thanked  my  heavenly  Father  that  though  He 
would  not  allow  David  to  build  one  house  for  Him,  He 
gave  me  the  exultant  privilege  of  building  two  for  Him. 
It  was  a  lonesome  time  I  had,  waiting  for  the  day  when  I 
might  see  my  purpose  fulfilled.  After  all  I  had  to  prac- 
tice a  little  duplicity  which  I  verily  believe  was  of  a  good 
moral  sort.  I  started  out  under  the  pretext  of  enlarging 
and  improving  the  old  house,  which  I  intended  to  do  if 
nothing  better  could  be  done.     It  was  John  Gresham  who 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        1Y9 

fretted  me  into  the  start.  He  had  a  great  Sunday  dinner 
prepared  for  me  and  I  didn't  want  to  go  and  I  refused  so 
long  as  I  could,  but  finally  assured  him  that  I  was  going 
only  because  he  wanted  me,  and  also  that  I  was  going  not 
in  the  best  humor.  He  said  that  his  wife  had  had  the 
dinner  prepared  and  he  had  promised  to  deliver  me  in 
person  at  his  house,  and  as  to  the  state  of  mind  in  which  I 
went,  that  wouldn'  t  count  at  all.  So  I  went  and  E.  W. 
Gates  and  B.  B.  Van  Buren  went,  as  John  said,  to  fill  up, 
which  same  they  faithfully  did.  After  dinner  I  brought 
up  the  church  business  and  had  a  wrangle  lasting  until 
supper,  but  I  went  back  into  town  with  forty -five  hundred 
dollars  promised.  Gold  in  the  hand  would  not  have  been 
one  whit  better.  It  was  one  of  my  happy  customs  to  have 
a  New  Year's  reception  every  year  and  everybody  from 
the  loftiest  deacon  to  the  smallest  member  of  the  infant 
class  was  expected  to  come  into  my  house,  have  a  hand- 
shake, take  a  taste  of  food  and  a  New  Year's  card  and  go 
away  resolving  to  be  better,  and  it  looked  to  me  as  if  all 
of  them  kept  their  promise. 

That  Sunday  night  I  told  them  that  the  following 
Wednesday  night  would  not  only  witness  my  reception 
but  would  also  celebrate  my  silver  wedding,  and  that 
I  wanted  them  to  bring  me  a  present  on  New  Year's 
evening.  They  looked  decidedly  surprised,  for  I  had  not 
made  it  a  point  to  regale  them  with  my  mendicant  ap- 
peals, and  after  a  little  I  told  them  it  was  for  repairing 
the  church  for  which  I  asked  the  money,  and  I  expected 
them  to  bring  me  $10,000.  They  laughed  an  incredulous 
but  good-natured  laugh  and  I  told  them  I  fully  expected 
to  get  it.  When  we  counted  it  up  it  was  a  fraction  over 
$12,000  and  by  that  time  the  ship  had  crossed  the  bars 
and  was  fully  out  to  sea.  We  got  so  much  that  I  went 
the  circle  again  to  see  how  much  they  would  add  to  the 
amount  promised  to  have  a  new  house.     In  three  more 


180  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

days  we  had  $30,000  and  with  that,  after  giving  letters  to  a 
few  to  whom  progress  was  pain  and  disapi)ointment,  we 
voted  unanimously  to  have  a  new  house.  It  cost  nearly 
$70, 000.  We  subscribed  our  money  when  times  were  good 
and  had  to  pay  it  when  times  were  hard  and  what  was 
more,  had  to  take  three  pulls  and  four  years  before  we 
entered  what  was  the  largest,  most  convenient,  most  im- 
posing building  in  the  city.  The  glories  of  dedication 
day  cannot  be  spoken  by  my  dull,  unworthy  lips. 
Friends  came  from  far  and  wide  to  rejoice  with  us. 
Dr.  John  A.  Broadus,  peerless  among  American  min- 
isters, preached  the  sermon  and  my  people  were  happy, 
noble,  and  united  in  the  triumphs  and  glories  of  the  day. 

The  auditorium  had  ample  sittings  for  1,550  people  and 
thirty  rooms  all  admirably  furnished.  My  study  in 
some  way  touched  the  tender  spot  in  my  people  and  they 
crowded  it  with  all  the  choicest  and  most  useful  things. 
It  was  truly  a  dream  of  a  study. 

We  entered  this  edifice  on  the  fifth  Sunday  in  March, 
1894,  and  on  the  2Gth  of  February,  1896,  the  building  was 
turned  into  ashes  with  everything  it  contained.  Its  fur- 
nishings had  cost  nearly  $10,000  ;  its  glass  was  costly  and 
beautiful.  My  study  had  all  my  books,  my  manuscripts, 
my  most  treasured  correspondence  and  about  everything 
that  a  man  gathers  in  a  twenty  years'  pastorate  in  the 
way  of  souvenirs,  love  tokens  and  heart  treasures.  Every 
particle  of  it  went  up  and  out  on  the  wings  of  the  flames. 
It  was  my  bitter  task  to  discover  the  fire  and  to  seek  the 
help  of  the  fire  department.  A  wind,  almost  cyclonic  in 
its  violence,  was  shaking  the  city  and  odd  and  unex- 
plained delays  in  the  coming  of  the  fire  fighters  set  the 
flames  beyond  the  reach  of  suppression.  In  five  minutes 
after  the  chief  of  the  fire  department  arrived  he  ap- 
proached me  and  said,  ^'  I  am  exceedingly  sorry,  doctor, 
to   say  that  we  cannot  save  your  building,   but  must 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        181 

^ive    all  of  our  time  to  preventing  a  general  confla- 
gration." 

<'  If  it  must  be  so,"  said  I,  *'do  your  duty  to  the  city." 
But  I  added  as  I  turned  to  the  crowd  that  if  the  church 
had  to  go  I  must  at  least  be  spared  the  sight  of  its  de- 
struction. I  turned  away  and  some  one  threw  his  arms 
over  my  shoulders  from  behind  and  said  in  cheery  tones, 
'^  Never  mind,  doctor,  let  her  go  and  we  will  build  you 
another,  and  the  glory  of  the  second  shall  outshine  that 
of  the  first." 

I  turned  and  it  was  one  of  the  best  friends  the  church 
liad,— the  ever-popular  Charles  H.  Eppes,  city  sergeant, 
a  royal  fellow  and  though  not  a  member  of  the  church, 
one  of  its  most  generous  supporters. 

The  fire  was  discovered  at  two  o'clock  p.  m.,  and  at 
three  the  funeral  of  Deacon  A.  L.  Shepherd  was  to  take 
place  in  the  building.  One  of  the  quietest  of  all  our 
deacons  came  to  me  and  said  to  me,  "  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

I  said,  *'See  Dr.  Landrum  and  tell  him  to  open  the 
Second  Baptist  Church  for  the  funeral.  Have  notices  of 
the  funeral  put  up  where  all  the  people  can  see  it  who 
come  to  the  fire,  and  notify  the  family  to  head  the  pro- 
cession to  the  Second  Church."  With  a  delay  of  just 
fifteen  minutes  the  friends  had  about  filled  the  Second 
Baptist  Church,  though  they  left  the  burning  church  to 
go,  and  the  funeral  service  w^as  as  quiet  and  solemn  as  if 
it  was  being  held  in  the  building  which  the  good  deacon 
had  helped  to  build  and  to  which  he  had  given  a  magnif- 
icent solid  communion  set  which,  alas,  was  melted  by  the 
same  flames  which  consumed  the  house. 

I  dropped  in  at  Deacon  Foster's  to  wait  until  time  for 
the  funeral  and  told  the  dread  news,  and  mother  and 
daughters  actually  wailed  in  piteous  distress.  The  spec- 
tacle reversed  the  current  in  my  case  and  I  sprang  to  my 


182  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

feet  and  declared  that  never  a  sigli  nor  a  tear  should  tell 
any  grief  of  mine,  and  truly  from  that  moment  I  never 
felt  one  pulsation  of  sorrow.  I  did  more  than  that.  I 
assumed  a  most  arbitrary  and  exacting  air  and  told  those 
ladies  that  I  had  to  go  to  the  funeral  and  that  I  wanted  a 
lunch,  a  good  one  and  at  once,  and  in  five  minutes  the 
good  things  were  multiplying  on  the  table,  and  those 
heroic  women  were  chatting  almost  gleefully  about  what 
a  time  we  would  have  in  building  another  church.  In 
spite  of  it  all,  I  felt  a  rawness  of  heart  and  wondered  how 
many  prophetic  shriekers  would  beat  around  to  talk  of 
what  a  significant  dispensation  of  Providence  it  was.  I 
was  weU  scourged  for  my  thoughts,  for  on  my  way  to  the 
funeral  I  met  one  of  my  boys  and  he  remarked  that  the 
burning  of  the  church  was  very  unfortunate.  '  ^  But, ' '  said 
he,  ^'doctor,  call  on  me  for  $100,"  and  I  turned  the 
corner  and  there  was  my  most  distinguished  and  eminent 
friend.  Dr.  M.  D.  Hoge,  the  very  flower  and  pride  of 
Southern  Presbyteriauism,  and  he  gave  my  hand  a  most 
reviving  shake  and  said,  "  My  good  brother,  you  must 
not  deny  me  the  coveted  privilege  of  giving  you  a  mite 
to  get  you  up  at  once  another  church  j  draw  on  me  for 
$100  at  any  hour  you  need  it." 

I  ought  to  say  that  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  great  re- 
vival at  the  time,  aided  by  Dr.  L.  G.  Broughton,  whose 
sermons  were  in  my  study  and  met  the  same  fate  as  my 
lumbering  pile  of  homiletic  matter.  I  told  him  that  I 
knew  that  when  the  flames  struck  his  sermons  that  they 
could  never  be  stopped  and  he  rather  meanly  intimated 
that  if  the  fire  got  into  mine  it  would  be  the  first  time 
they  knew  what  fire  was, — or  words  to  that  effect. 

The  next  morning  papers  contained  my  request  that 
my  people  would  meet  in  the  First  Presbyterian  Church 
at  two  o'clock  that  afternoon.  It  looked  as  if  every  one 
of  them  came  and  with  them  hundreds  of  the  children 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        183 

and  yet  other  hundreds  of  friends  and  neighbors.  The 
general  voice  was  that  there  never  was  such  a  meeting  as 
that.  I  entered  the  room  with  several  friends  from  the 
rear,  and  as  we  advanced  to  the  pulpit  we  struck  an  old- 
time  hymn.  Everybody  cried  but  us  and  I  dare  say  we 
cried  some  too  during  the  first  stanza.  With  the  next 
stanza  some  lifted  up  their  heads  and  began  to  sing,  and 
by  the  time  we  got  to  the  end  of  the  hymn  the  house  was 
reverberating  with  exultant  praises.  Outsiders  came 
and  looked  as  if  they  were  almost  disposed  to  break  up 
the  meeting  by  insistent  offers  of  money  to  help  us  build. 
Ministers  and  the  Jewish  rabbi  were  there  to  offer  us 
their  churches,  and  I  carried  a  paper  appointing  one  com- 
mittee to  build  us  a  tabernacle  for  temporary  purposes  ; 
and  a  building  committee  to  take  into  hand  the  matter  of 
a  new  house  of  worship.  The  spirit  of  the  assembly  rose 
in  fervency,  reverence,  exultation  and  joy.  There  was 
no  programme  and  not  much  order  ;  but  it  was  the  most 
sacred,  uplifting  and  heavenly  disorder  that  ever  marked 
a  religious  assemblage.  It  looked  as  if  we  would  not  be 
able  to  stop  the  buoyant  fellowship  and  bounding  praises 
of  the  people.  At  last  I  thought  we  had  the  blessed  mob 
under  control,  when  a  man  sprang  up  and  said,  ''For 
heaven's  sake,  do  not  break  up  until  we  have  time  to 
shake  hands  with  our  pastor.  We  want  to  let  him  know 
that  we  are  all  right  and  if  there  is  anything  on  earth 
that  he  wants  us  to  do,  let  him  tell  us  and  we  are  subject 
to  orders.'' 

The  hand-shake  came  on  in  which  some  of  the  minis- 
ters shared  and  both  of  my  hands  were  in  sad  need  of  a 
physician  after  the  hysterical  squeezes  which  about  a 
thousand  people  had  given  them. 

At  the  close  of  it  all,  the  Jewish  rabbi,  a  scholar,  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  heart,  said  to  Dr.  Kerr,  the  hos- 
pitable and  distinguished  pastor  of  the  church,  that  he 


184:  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

Lad  heard  that  there  was  uo  power  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
and  had  often  said  so  himself,  but  that  he  would  never 
say  so  again,  solemnly  adding  that  never  in  his  life  had 
he  seen  such  an  impressive,  religious  demonstration  as  he 
had  witnessed  at  that  time. 

And  then  came  the  rarest  and  most  unworldly  mani- 
festation of  human  nobility  that  I  ever  saw.  The  stream 
of  sympathy  gathering  from  all  quarters  broke  in  over- 
whelming volume  upon  the  church.  A  distinguished 
gentleman  said  that  the  outbreak  of  kindness  constituted 
a  new  era  in  the  history  of  Christian  fellowship.  The 
whole  city  poured  out  in  practical  shape  its  compassion- 
ate sorrow.  All  gates  were  opened,  and  all  hands 
stretched  out  to  help.  Our  church  had  more  homes  than 
it  could  even  enter  to  hold  a  thanksgiving  service.  It 
worshipped  in  thirteen  different  places,  and  one  unsophis- 
ticated boy  touched  off  the  situation  with  unconscious 
humor  when  he  said,  ^'Iwas  converted  in  the  Second 
Baptist  Church,  received  for  baptism  at  the  First  Presby- 
terian Church,  baptized  at  the  Calvary  Baptist  Church 
and  received  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  in  the  Jewish 
Synagogue.'' 

What  a  chapter  of  grace,  liberality,  self-sacrifice  could 
be  written  of  the  days  that  followed  that  fire.  I  never 
knew  people  were  so  good,  and  never  learned  how  to  love 
with  unlimited  ardors  until  that  time.  Truly  did  we 
^'  build  another"  of  old  Virginia  granite  after  a  new  and 
admirable  pattern,  and  sure  enough  the  glory  of  the  lat- 
ter far  outshone  the  glory  of  the  former.  That  church 
was  dedicated  on  the  first  day  of  the  week,  the  first  day 
of  the  month,  the  first  day  of  the  year  and  the  first  day 
of  the  twentieth  century. 

It  was  a  day  of  days,  a  day  of  new  days  and  a  day 
whose  glory  will  outlive  the  century  which  began  with  it. 

But  this  racing,  half-told  and  never  to  be  told  story  of 


TWENTY-SIX  YEARS  TO  A  DAY        185 

my  Grace  Street  pastorate  must  lialt.  Your  patience  has 
been  wonderful,  and  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  not  told  it 
better.  AYhen  I  resigned,  it  was  not  because  I  wished  to 
resign,  and  Deacon  Foster,  chairman  of  the  committee 
sent  to  ask  me  to  reconsider  my  resignation,  assured  me 
that  he  could  find  not  a  single  one  who  wished  me  to  re- 
sign. But  it  was  done  under  a  long  and  oft-continued 
pressure  that  I  must  do  a  service  for  my  Alma  Mater  to 
whom  I  owed  so  much  and  from  whom  had  come  a  claim 
so  urgent  and  pathetic  that  I  could  not  disregard  it.  No 
pastor  ever  had  a  more  inviting  or  satisfying  pastorate, 
and  I  think  that  no  church  ever  had  a  more  grateful  or  a 
more  loving  pastor.  I  was  never  satisfied  with  my  work, 
but  so  far  as  it  was  unsatisfactory  to  my  people,  charity 
covered  up  that  part  of  it,  and  so  we  parted  in  sorrow 
and  in  a  love  which  can  never  die  in  this  world  nor  in 
the  other. 

I  know  that  far  more  of  those  who  welcomed  me  here 
when  I  first  came  are  in  heaven  than  are  here  to  greet  me 
to-night,  and  I  feel  well  assured  that  out  on  the  eternal 
hills  I  shall  see  not  only  them  but  those  who  still  abide 
upon  the  earth  as  they  come  up  to  join  the  celestial 
throng 

Where  congregations  ne'er  break  up 
And  Sabbaths  have  no  end. 


XI 

QUITTING  THE  SHEEPFOLD 

WHEX  I  was  about  sixty-five  years  of  age  my 
life  suffered  a  reluctant  wreuch.  Kiclimond 
College  was  my  alma  mater  ;  she  was  exceed- 
ingly good  to  me  in  the  rude  days  of  my  early  manhood 
and  opened  the  way  by  which  I  secured  my  not  too  gen- 
erous collegiate  training.  I  cherished  the  college  with 
filial  devotion,  and  counted  it  my  pride  to  serve  her  with 
a  zeal  that  asked  no  fee  and  halted  at  no  sacrifice.  Quite 
early  in  my  ministry  I  became  one  of  the  trustees,  and 
later  on,  I  became  the  official  head  of  the  Board.  The 
trustees  laid  hold  upon  me  and  demanded  that  I  go 
out  and  secure  an  additional  endowment.  I  shrank  fear- 
fully from  the  task  and  declined  over  and  over  again,  but 
the  importunity  of  friends  and  brethren  so  beloved  and 
so  insistent  brought  me  to  a  reluctant  surrender.  It 
meant  retirement  from  a  church  of  which  I  had  been 
pastor  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  which  I  loved  more 
than  my  life,  and  which  had  learned  to  be  inexhaustibly 
patient  and  gracious  towards  me. 

It  was  not  a  good  time  to  go  after  money  ;  it  was  too 
late  in  my  life  to  set  my  boat  upon  untried  seas.  I  got 
the  money  I  was  asked  to  get  and  did  other  incidental 
work  besides,  but  it  led  to  the  rending  of  my  pastoral  ties 
and  added  nothing  in  compensation  for  that  change.  I 
never  had  regrets  :  it  seemed  a  thing  of  fate  that  I  had  to 
do,  and  while  uncongenial  and  irksome,  I  remember  the 
work  as  having  been  done  by  a  thankful  son  for  an  ever- 
cherished  mother.     It  was  something  worth  living  for  to 

186 


QUITTING  THE  SHEEPFOLD  187 

have  five  years  of  unbroken  fellowship  with  two  men  to 
be  forever  enshrined  in  my  heart.  One  was  Rev.  Dr.  C. 
H.  Ryland,  financial  master  of  the  college  for  full  forty 
years,  one  of  my  old  college  comrades,  true  as  steel,  pure 
as  gold,  and  unrivalled  in  worth  among  all  the  sous  of 
men  whom  I  have  known.  The  other  was  Frederick 
William  Boatwright,  whom  I  learned  to  love  as  a  boy, 
whose  brave  career  I  have  ever  watched  with  pride,  and 
whose  reign  as  President  of  the  Eichmond  College  has 
been  magnificent  in  its  achievements  and  its  splendor. 

It  is  fitting  that  I  should  add  that  in  considering  the 
appeal  to  devote  some  of  my  time  to  the  better  equipment 
of  Eichmond  College  I  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
question  as  to  what  the  rest  of  my  life  should  be  concerned 
with.  I  foresaw  that  it  would  involve  the  breaking  of  my 
pastoral  ties,  and  I  felt  distinctly  that  after  giving  up  my 
incomparable  and  ever  loyal  Grace  Street  charge  I  could 
never  grow  into  another  pastorate.  It  was  that  fact  that 
made  me  pause  so  long  and  to  suffer  so  much  under  the 
clamor  of  the  trustees  for  my  services.  If  I  could  have 
taken  a  little  while  and  then  resumed  my  pastorate,  that 
would  have  been  quite  another  thing,  but  the  change  in- 
volved the  recasting  of  my  earthly  future  which  I  hardly 
then  thought  would  be  so  extended  as  it  has  proved  to 
be.  I  dare  not  have  the  presumption  of  saying  that  God 
was  opening  my  way  for  me,  and  yet  not  even  His  good- 
ness could  have  set  out  my  path  or  my  task  in  these  latter 
days  more  to  my  taste  and  to  my  comfort  than  it  has 
been  in  detail  as  well  as  in  outline. 


XII 

WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE 

MY  unconquerable  passion  for  going  bore  me  far 
abroad  as  a  helper  of  my  brethren  in  their 
evangelistic  meetings.  The  churches  which  I 
served  sought  to  moderate  my  enthusiasm  in  this  fascina- 
ting specialty,  and  not  a  few  brethren  assigned  me  a  place 
among  the  incorrigibles.  My  topmost  delight  was  the 
country  revival  which  showed  the  rural  brethren  at  their 
best.  It  evoked  their  hospitality,  furnished  an  open  field 
for  social  commingling  and,  by  separating  the  people 
from  their  avocations  and  their  homes,  put  them  in  the 
best  mood  for  hearing  the  Gospel  and  looking  after  the 
salvation  of  their  neighbors.  As  time  went  on  many  city 
pastors  sought  for  my  services.  As  a  rule  my  summer 
vacations  were  given  out  freely  to  revival  meetiugs,  from 
their  beginning  to  the  time  of  my  return,  and  during  the 
several  seasons  of  the  year  I  would  slip  away  on  the  early 
Monday  trains  and  give  the  week  days  to  revival  services. 
Quite  often  I  would  simply  announce  to  my  church  on 
Sunday  that  I  would  be  in  a  revival  meeting  at  a  given 
place  for  a  given  time,  indicating  the  arrangements  for 
substitutes  in  my  absence.  Now  and  then  I  would  sug- 
gest to  the  city  churches  that  were  clamoring  for  my  help 
that  they  appeal  to  the  Supreme  Court,  my  church  in  that 
case  constituting  the  final  resort,  and  almost  without  ex- 
ception every  well  articulated  appeal  for  my  services  was 
honored  by  my  people.  My  deacons  used  to  sit  up  with 
my  case  wondering  whether  I  was  beyond  redemption, 
now  and  then  sending  one  of  their  number  to  labor  with 

188 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  189 

me.  He  generally  ended  his  Interview  by  apologizing  for 
his  intrusion,  and  stoutly  maintaining  that  he  believed 
that  the  indications  of  providence  were  on  my  side.  I 
found  that  I  could  afford  to  strain  the  patience  of  my 
people  to  some  extent  by  running  off  in  revivals, — some 
declaring  that  they  did  not  believe  that  I  could  help  it, 
and  others  feeling  that  in  antagonizing  me  they  might 
find  themselves  fighting  against  God.  Now  as  I  look 
back  and  think  of  it  all  my  heart  melts  as  I  remember 
the  patience,  courtesy  and  loyalty  of  those  whose  pastor 
it  was  my  honor  and  glory  to  be.  When  I  began  my 
Eichmond  pastorate  I  told  my  church  at  the  time  of  my 
installation  that  the  cry  of  the  churches  for  my  help  rang 
for  me  like  the  voice  of  God  and  that  they  might  as  well 
understand  that  they  would  have  trouble  with  me  on  that 
score  as  long  as  they  held  on  to  me.  When  I  preached 
my  farewell  sermon  to  them  after  a  twenty-six  years'  pas- 
torate I  reminded  them  of  what  I  said  at  the  beginning, 
and  told  them  that  whatever  they  might  think  of  my  con- 
duct in  other  respects,  as  their  pastor,  I  thought  that  there 
was  one  promise  I  made  that  I  had  fulfilled,  and  that  was 
the  promise  to  go  out  and  help  the  other  churches.  The 
remark  brought  on  almost  tumultuous  laughter,  for  my 
wayfaring  habits  were  well  known  to  my  church  and  they 
had  long  ago  given  up  the  hope  of  breaking  my  speed 
in  that  particular.  After  their  laughter  had  ceased  I 
told  them  that  while  some  mistakes  might  have  been 
made  in  that  respect  I  fully  believed  that  the  church  was 
greater  by  reason  of  my  going  than  it  would  have  become 
by  my  staying.  Indeed  my  people  came,  during  the  later 
years  of  my  pastorate,  to  welcome  me  after  my  prolonged 
absences  by  telling  me  that  I  always  brought  them  bottles 
of  the  old  wine  of  the  kingdom  when  I  came  back  from 
the  Gospel  feasts  of  the  other  churches. 
Truly  I  had  a  holy  fear  of  my  church, — not  the  ignoble 


190  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

dread  of  rude  dismissal,  but  the  fear  of  wounding  them 
by  an  ill-proportioned  interest  in  things  apart  from  them. 
Sometimes  I  would  hasten  home  on  late  Saturday  nights. 
They  always  said  that  they  did  not  look  for  me  until  the 
last  train.  My  accusing  fancy  would  conjure  before  me 
pictures  of  wounded  hearts  stricken  by  neglect  and  no 
longer  trustful  and  tender  towards  me.  But  in  some  unex- 
plained and  blessed  way  my  soul  would  get  charged  with 
a  message, — heaven  must  have  given  it  to  me, — which  was 
the  very  bread  of  life  to  the  thronging  crowds  which  never 
failed  to  meet  me.  Their  welcoming  smile,  their  eager 
hand-grasp,  and  even  their  chidings,  made  my  pastorate 
a  song  whose  enriching  notes  seemed  full  of  the  world 
unseen. 

In  contrast  with  these  times  of  bliss  with  my  people  were 
hardships,  downfalls  and  grim  adventures  which  befell 
me  in  my  efforts  to  serve  others.  I  give  a  case  here  which 
occurred  in  the  midst  of  the  wildest  mountains  into  which 
I  ever  penetrated  and  which  went  far  and  wide  at  my  ex- 
pense, and  I  often  told  it  myself. 

One  of  the  peculiar  passions  of  my  life  has  been  to  save 
important  occasions  from  going  to  wreck,  as  they  are  often 
in  danger  of  doing,  from  the  lack  of  management.  It  is, 
however,  a  species  of  interference  that  often  reacts  in  a 
dangerous  way.  On  several  occasions  I  was  taught  by 
acute  experiences  that  to  intrude  into  situations  not  fully 
understood  may  land  a  man  into  other  situations  far  more 
embarrassing.  I  was  called  into  the  mountains  of  Vir- 
ginia to  preach  on  the  occasion  of  the  dedication  of  a  house 
of  worship  in  a  small  secluded  village.  One  feature  of 
the  services  was  an  ill  sorted  and  untutored  choir  which, 
while  harrowing  enough  in  its  performances,  was  evi- 
dently very  proud  of  itself,  and  thought  that  it  was  head- 
ing towards  immortal  fame.     On  the  day  following  the 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  191 

dedication  a  large  missionary  association  held  its  meeting 
in  the  newly  dedicated  church.  There  were  very  distin- 
guished speakers  present  j  visitors  had  come  from  great 
distances ;  expectation  was  eager  and  the  outlook  for  a 
great  impression  was  most  inspiriDg.  The  morning 
opened  well  and  the  choir  reappeared  in  the  little  box 
gallery  in  the  rear  of  the  church,  and  was  evidently  there 
to  win  new  laurels.  Unfortunately  several  pieces  of  music 
were  rendered  with  the  utmost  maltreatment,  and  yet  the 
speakers  were  full  of  eloquence  and  power. 

At  the  close  of  an  address  a  modest  brother  was  called 
out  to  read  an  important  paper.  Just  about  the  time  he 
was  unlimbering  and  ready  to  fire  off,  something  hap- 
pened. Up  in  the  choir  gallery  some  man  started  out  to 
sing  a  solo  which  was  evidently  not  on  the  programme. 
It  was  quite  clear  that  he  was  lying  down  and  his  voice 
quavered  mournfully  and  dragged  along  heavily  as  he 
moaned  out  to  the  tune  of  old  Martin,  '  ^  Jesus  lover  of 
my  soul." 

A  look  of  painful  surprise  marked  the  audience  and 
the  meandering  soloist  finished  the  line  without  interrup- 
tion. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  I  entered  the  scene  with  the 
brave  intent  to  turn  confusion  into  a  musical  victory,  and 
with  religious  energy  the  soloist  and  myself  made  a 
duet  as  we  sang  together,  '*  Let  me  to  Thy  bosom  fly." 

I  felt  quite  sure  that  under  my  bold  leadership  the 
crowd  would  fall  in  and  that  we  would  make  the  old 
hymn  roll  out  with  congregational  vigor.  I  was  mistaken. 
The  grim  and  desolate  soloist  and  myself  were  left  alone 
in  our  gloom  and  glory.  I  confess  that  it  provoked  me, 
and  so  I  stopped  to  review  the  situation.  The  melan- 
choly man  in  the  gallery  headed  into  the  third  line, — 
*^  While  the  raging  billows  roll,"  and  slurred  and  demi- 
semi-quavered  through  it  alone.    The  audience  remained 


192  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

quiet,  some,  as  if  crushed  with  humiliation ;  some,  as  if  they 
would  explode  with  laughter,  and  I  with  far  more  zeal 
than  discretion  felt  quite  outraged  that  neither  the  choir 
nor  the  people  seemed  ready  to  take  part.  I  determined 
that  something  must  be  done,  and  so  when  the  soloist  in 
the  gallery  turned  into  the  fourth  line  I  broke  in  with 
him,  fully  set  on  getting  the  people  into  the  song. 

With  all  the  vocal  energy  which  I  i)ossessed,  and  my 
capacity  for  making  a  noise  was  considerable,  I  pealed 
forth  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  '^  While  the  tempest  still  is 
high,"  and  counted  fully  on  a  general  musical  rally  in 
the  audience. 

Not  a  note  was  heard  except  from  the  dismal  brother  in 
the  gallery  and  myself  in  the  pulpit  at  the  other  end  of 
the  house.  I  experienced  all  the  coldness  which  attends 
a  man  in  the  moment  of  a  great  failure.  Indeed  a  sense 
of  being  hopelessly  stranded  shot  through  me,  and  I 
wished  sincerely  that  I  had  not  come.  Just  then  a  tall, 
thin,  reverential  but  excited  man  rushed  down  from  the 
gallery  and  pulled  up  the  aisle  and  approaching  me  said, 
with  cutting  reproach  : 

"  Why,  Dr.  Hatcher,  didn't  you  know  that  man  in  the 
gallery  with  that  maudlin  voice  is  drunk  ?  " 

''No,  I  didn't,"  I  said  quite stormily  ;  "nor  did  I  know 
that  you  employed  drunkards  to  do  your  singing,"  which 
remark  I  fancied  would  wither  my  critic  out  of  existence. 

To  my  utter  surprise  the  crowd  broke  into  gales  of 
laughter  which  I  knew  instinctively  were  entirely  at  my 
expense,  and  the  echoes  of  that  uproarious  merriment  have 
broken  around  me  many  times  since.  I  honestly  believe 
that  from  that  time  I  have  been  a  fraction  more  discreet, 
but  I  have  not  been  able  to  out-travel  the  amusement  and 
reminders  of  that  story. 

In  sharp  contrast  with  the  humorous  experience  just 
related  I  add  the  following  bewildering  and  yet  affecting 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  193 

story,  liow  in  tlie  mysterious  turns  of  life  men  of  such 
diiiterent  characters,  such  bitter  memories  and  such  war- 
ring hostilities  may  be  brought  together  in  sudden  and 
glorious  harmony.  This  incident  occurred  in  one  of 
the  greatest  churches  in  America,  and  only  those  who 
witnessed  it  can  understand  the  jar,  the  strain,  the 
humor  and  even  the  grace  and  beauty  of  it. 

One  night  in  a  memorable  meeting  a  gentleman  came 
forward,  evidently  a  Christian  but  not  an  acquaintance  of 
mine,  and  told  me  that  he  was  very  anxious  to  introduce 
to  me  a  friend  of  his  in  whom  he  was  especially  inter- 
ested. He  brought  uj)  a  well-dressed  and  fairly  attract- 
ive looking  man,  not  yet  old  enough  to  be  counted  mid- 
dle aged.  I  entered  into  conversation  with  the  man  and 
found  him  very  serious,  and  he  so  attracted  me  that  I  told 
him  he  must  not  go  away  until  I  had  brought  him  in  con- 
tact with  some  of  the  members  of  the  church,  many  of 
whom  were  standing  around  in  different  portions  of  the 
house.  My  eye  chanced  to  light  on  one  of  the  deacons, 
Deacon  Duncan,  and  I  called  him  forward. 

^'Deacon  Duncan,"   said  I,  ''I  want  to  introduce  to 

you  my  friend,  Mr.   C ,  and  I  desire  that  you  will 

take  him  in  charge  and  be  to  him  a  brother  and  a  friend." 

I  saw  an  unmistakable  embarrassment  on  the  part  of 
the  deacon  and  the  man.  It  was  acute,  benumbing,  and 
yet  I  determined  to  push  it  along.  I  told  the  deacon  that 
he  and  my  friend  had  better  get  into  a  quiet  part  of  the 
room  and  have  a  good  talk  together,  and  they  walked  off 
in  company.     After  a  while  the  room  had  emptied  itself, 

the  conversation  of  the  deacon  and  Mr.  C had  closed 

and  Mr.  C had  gone  out  with  his  friend,  and  Deacon 

Duncan  walked  up  on  me  with  about  as  queer  and  crush- 
ing sort  of  a  look  on  his  face  as  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  days 
upon  any  mortal  face.     He  was  pale,  sick  and  tremulous. 


194  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

''  Doctor,  do  you  know  what  you  have  done  to-night  1 " 
he  inquired  with  great  seriousness. 

I  replied  that  if  I  had  done  anything  that  ought  not  to 
have  been  done,  it  was  his  time  to  do  the  preaching  and  I 
would  do  the  repenting.  He  then  proceeded  to  tell  me 
that  the  man  that  I  had  placed  in  his  charge,  had,  about 
five  years  before  that,  burglarized  his  home  and  stolen 
every  piece  of  silver  there  was  in  the  house. 

There  it  was  now,  sure  enough.  It  was  my  time  to  be 
silent  and  yet  it  was  a  time  when  I  was  bound  to  speak. 
I  asked  him  what  occurred  when  they  walked  off  and  got 
face  to  face. 

**  The  poor  fellow,"  he  said,  **  was  cut  to  the  heart  and 
said  to  me  that  he  hoped  that  I  would  not  feel  it  my  duty 
to  strike  him  down.  ^  I  see  that  you  know  me,  Mr.  Dun- 
can,^ he  said,  with  great  humility,  ^and  if  you  did  not 
know  me,  I  would  not  be  unwilling  for  you  to  know  me. 
You  know  the  wrong  that  I  did  you  ;  I  fully  justify  your 
pursuing  me  ;  I  am  glad  that  you  got  all  of  your  property 
back ;  my  punishment  I  took,  and  when  it  was  over  I 
determined  that  my  future  should  be  spent  in  this  city. 
There  were  several  gentlemen  who  had  not  lost  faith  in 
me,  bad  as  I  was,  and  they  took  me  up.  They  have  set 
me  up  in  business  in  another  part  of  the  city  and  I  am 
getting  along.  I  want  to  be  a  better  man  and  came 
to  this  meeting  that  I  might  seek  the  mercy  of 
God.'  " 

''  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  "  I  ventured  to  ask. 

"  'Do  not  be  uneasy,'  I  said  to  him  ;  '  we  will  bury  the 
past  right  here  ;  I  have  nothing  against  you  now  and  I 
offer  you  my  confidence,  my  sympathy  in  your  struggle 
to  be  a  better  man.'  " 

He  then  added  that  the  past  was  blotted  out  and  he  had 
a  hope  that  the  man's  desire  to  begin  life  anew  would 
ripen  into  a  conviction,  adding  that  he  and  others  would 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  195 

treat  him  as  a  brotlier  and  do  what  they  could  to  help  him 
to  a  better  life. 

It  would  iudeed  be  wonderful,  and  it  ought  to  be  usual, 
if  cases  of  this  kind  were  occurring  at  all  the  churches. 
If  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  had  free  course  to  run,  it  would 
win  some  of  its  chiefest  glories  in  the  salvation  of  such 
cases  as  this. 

Another  one  of  my  revival  experiences  occurred  in 
the  winter  of  1898  when  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  spend 
about  a  dozen  days  in  assisting  Dr.  H.  F.  Colby,  then 
pastor  of  the  First  Baptist  Church  at  Dayton,  Ohio,  in 
evangelistic  services.  There  grew  up  in  the  meeting  the 
odd  and  yet  helpful  fashion  among  the  Christian  people 
of  bringing  their  unsaved  friends  forward  at  the  close  of 
the  service  to  introduce  them  to  me.  It  brought  about 
several  most  unexpected  results. 

One  night  a  gentleman  came  up  and  told  me  that  he 
was  authorized  by  a  certain  lady  to  say  to  me  that  she 
would  be  present  at  the  service  on  the  following  night  to 
make  an  open  confession  of  her  faith  in  Jesus  Christ.  It 
was  something  out  of  the  ordinary  and  drew  us  to  further 
conversation,  during  which  he  was  led  to  tell  me  that  she 
could  not  come  that  night,  that  she  had  a  great  social 
function,  a  euchre  party,  as  he  called  it,  at  her  home. 
He  also  gave  me  to  understand  that  she  belonged  to  the 
fashionable  set  of  Dayton  and  was  not  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  the  congregation  to  which  I  was  preachiug. 
I  confess  frankly  that  it  brought  a  decided  coolness  over 
me  to  learn  that  she  was  kept  away  from  the  meeting  by 
such  a  peculiar  form  of  social  dissipation  as  the  man  had 
frankly  spoken  of.  I  made  no  reply  but  I  practically 
turned  the  whole  thing  out  of  my  mind  and  would  prob- 
ably never  have  recalled  it  again. 

The  next  night  came  and  I,  utterly  forgetful  of  the 


196  alo:ng  the  trail 

woman  who  was  coming  to  make  public  avowal  of  her 
faith,  made  the  usual  appeal  for  public  confessions  of 
faith.  Almost  with  the  moment  that  the  invitation 
passed  my  lips  there  arose  in  the  rear  of  the  church  a 
youug  woman— I  would  not  say  brilliantly  dressed  but 
herself  so  rarely  and  brilliantly  beautiful  that  she  im- 
parted beauty  to  her  dress  and  to  her  entire  person.  A 
lawyer  friend,  a  member  of  that  church,  declared  after- 
wards that  it  was  a  transfiguration.  He  said  that  the 
lustrous  beauty  of  her  presence  must  have  been  touched 
with  irresistible  glory  for,  as  he  declared,  the  whole  side 
of  the  church  on  which  she  came  flashed  with  resplendent 
light.  For  my  part,  I  only  know  that  I  saw  in  her  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  women  that  I  ever  looked  upon  and 
when  she  came  forward  and  grasped  my  hand,  she  said, 
*'  I  am  the  lady  that  had  the  euchre  party  last  night  and 
I  will  be  glad  to  speak  with  you  after  the  service  ends." 

She  took  a  seat  on  the  front  pew  and  waited  until  many 
different  friends,  for  one  reason  and  another,  had  held 
me  in  conversation  and  until,  indeed,  I  was  free  from  all 
interruption.  She  rose  and  came  forward  and  I  sug- 
gested that  we  take  a  seat  and  she  told  me  her  story, 
which  I  believe  I  can  reproduce  without  any  important 
variation. 

''I  ought  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  ^'that  I  form  a  little 
part  of  the  social  life  of  Dayton.  The  custom  in  the  city 
is,  among  the  members  of  Dayton  society,  to  give  a  series 
of  entertainments  or  functions  for  the  season,  each  young 
woman  having  her  own  night.  Last  night  was  my  time, 
chosen  weeks  ago  after  good  understanding  with  other 
friends  who  expected  also  to  entertain.  Of  course,  it  is 
quite  an  undertaking  to  prepare  for  one  of  these  occasions. 
My  tickets  were  sent  out  a  full  month  ago  and  went  to 
friends  in  many  parts  of  Ohio  and  not  a  few  in  other 
states.     We  had  worked  hard  to  have  every  detail  all 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  197 

right  and  day  before  yesterday  it  was  decided  that  we 
had  everything  in  readiness  and  would  have  a  day  and 
night  of  freedom.     Night  before  last  a  friend  was  in  to 
see  me  and  told  me  of  the  meeting  here  and,  as  I  was  at 
liberty  and  as  I  was  not  without  thoughtfulness  about 
religious    things,    I    accepted    his    invitation    to    come 
around.      The     services     affected     me    profoundly— so 
deeply,  indeed,  that  before  I  went  out  of  the  house  I 
fully  determined  that  I  would  devote  my  life  to  Jesus 
Christ,  my  Saviour,  but  I  made  no  public  acknowledgment 
of  it.     When  I  left  the  church  I  was  confronted  with  the 
impending  function  which  I  was  to  give  and  which  I 
suddenly  felt  was  in  some  way  out  of  harmony  with  my 
new  religious  experience.     I  can  tell  you  frankly  that  if 
I  could  have  seen  any  satisfactory  escape  from  having 
the  party,  it  would  have  brought  me  great  relief,  but  my 
tickets  had  gone  out  long  ago  ;  my  guests  were  already 
coming  into  the  city  ;  the  supper,  the  music,  the  flowers 
were  engaged  and  there  was  no  power  of  recalling  the 
engagement.     I  knew  that  to  retreat  at  that  point  would 
never  be  understood  and  would  bring  criticism,  which 
in  my  judgment  would  have  hurt  the  cause  far  more  than 
to  have  the  party.     So  I  determined  to  let  it  go  on  ;  it 
passed  off  with  all   the  fitness,  grace  and  effect  that 
previous  care  could  make  possible.     I  devoted  myself  to 
the  comfort  of  the  guests,  I  gave  them  all  that  I  had  in- 
vited them  to  and  gave  it  with  all  the  cordiality  of  which 
I  was  capable.     There  was  no  hitch  nor  break  nor  blunder 
and  the  friends  seemed  to  have  an  evening  full  of  pleasure 
and  happiness.     I  desire  to  say  to  you  that  I  did  not 
deny  my  new  Master,  although  we  had  the  party.     When 
it  came  to  the  end  and  the  friends  were  gathering  with  a 
view  to  separation  in  a  little  while,  I  got  their  ear  and 
thanked  them  for  their  coming,  expressed  the  joy  in  hav- 
ing them  and  my  high  appreciation  of  their  good-will  and 


198  ALOXG  THE  TRAIL 

friendship,  but  I  added  that  the  night  before  an  event 
had  happened  in  my  life  that  was  destined  to  exercise  a 
controlling  iufluence  over  me  in  the  future.  I  told  them 
that  to-night  it  was  my  full  purpose  to  make  an  open 
declaration  of  my  Christian  faith  and  enter  upon  my 
work  as  a  servant  of  Jesus  Christ." 

She  told  the  story  with  a  simplicity  and  candor  and 
a  tearful  warmth  that  made  it  wonderful.  I  said  to  her 
that  i^eople  might  differ  about  things  but  that  for  my 
part  I  thought  in  that  case  she  showed  the  levelness  and 
intelligence  of  her  faith  by  having  the  euchre  party  and 
that  whatever  the  future  held  for  her,  I  was  sure  the 
honor  of  the  Gospel  and  the  name  of  her  Saviour  could 
never  suffer  in  her  hands. 

I  left  Dayton  in  a  few  days  and  never  undertook  to 
follow  the  case.  The  incident  as  thus  related  was  to  me 
irresistibly  charming  and  I  have  counted  it  a  most  signal 
and  assuring  example  of  the  saving  power  and  the  good 
sense  of  the  Gospel  religion. 

In  1878  I  assisted  Dr.  Frank  H.  Kerfoot  in  revival 
services  at  the  Eutaw  Place  Baptist  Church,  Baltimore. 
The  meeting  drew  much  vital  force  from  the  Moody  meet- 
ings then  in  progress  in  that  city  and  had,  besides,  ex- 
traordinary features  of  interest  and  power.  Among  the 
various  services  held  was  a  men's  morning  prayer-meet- 
ing which  met  in  the  church  at  8 :  30  A.  M.,  and  was  for 
the  benefit  of  men  going  down  into  the  city  to  their  work. 
It  was  not  a  large  meeting  but  it  was  a  meeting  of  sur- 
passing force  and  tenderness.  It  well  illustrated,  what  it 
would  be  well  for  everybody  to  understand,  that  men  are 
the  commanding  force  in  a  great  evangelistic  movement. 
Their  place  is  in  the  front  and  when  they  fail  to  take 
their  place,  they  do  hurt  to  the  kingdom  of  God,  and 
when  they  are  endued  with  power  from  on  high  and 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  199 

amply  equipped  for  service,  nothing  can  stand  in  their 
vay. 

One  morning  Baltimore  was  swept  with  a  northeaster 
—a  genuine  and  terrific  blizzard.  The  winds  cut  like 
steel  and  the  streets  were  carpeted  with  ice,  the  trees  were 
loaded  with  icicles  and  travel  on  the  streets  was  scant  and 
perilous.  That  morning  there  were  not  more  than  two 
or  three  dozen  men  present,  but  the  prayer-meeting  room 
was  one  of  the  hot  spots  of  sorely-bewintered  Baltimore. 
I  was  conducting  the  meeting  and  announced  that  our 
time  would  be  up  in  several  minutes,  and  asked  if  there 
was  any  man  present  who  was  bound  to  speak. 

Instantly  Joshua  Levering  sprang  to  his  feet.  A  look 
at  him  told  that  his  soul  was  swept  by  a  fiercer  storm 
than  that  which  was  rattling  the  windows  and  blowing 
off  the  signs  of  the  Monumental  City. 

''  Yes,"  he  said,  ''  I  have  something  to  say— something 
very  sad  to  say.  Last  night  as  I  was  preparing  for  bed 
it  broke  over  me  with  shocking  force  that  the  grandson 
of  our  old  pastor.  Dr.  Eichard  Fuller,  is  an  avowed  in- 
fidel. He  is  a  student  in  the  John  Hopkins  University 
and,  I  understand,  a  member  of  an  agnostic  club  and  is 
quite  ready  to  cast  contempt  upon  that  religion  in  which 
his  grandfather  so  fully  believed  and  which  he  preached 
with  such  resistless  eloquence  in  this  church.  Brethren, 
while  we  have  been  asleep,  the  devil  has  come  in,  passed 
by  us  and  has  put  his  deadly  charm  upon  that  young 
man  and  drawn  him  away  into  his  camp  and  now 
has  him  busy  in  his  service.  All  night  the  sorrow  of  this 
thing  has  plowed  up  my  soul ;  my  eyes  have  refused  sleep 
and  I  have  been  able  to  do  nothing  but  cry  unto  the  God 
of  my  old  pastor  for  help.  Let  there  be  no  division  of 
feeling  with  us ;  there  is  but  one  thing  to  be  done  and 
that  must  be  done— we  are  to  invade  the  camp  of  the  ad- 
versary, recover  this  boy  and  bring  him  back  to  the  altar 


200  ALONG  THE  THAIL 

of  bis  graDdfather.  There  must  be  one  prayer  before  this 
meeting  ends  and  it  must  not  end  till  we  have  i)ut  the 
case  before  the  Lord." 

"Brother  Joshua,"  I  said,  shaken  to  the  depths  of  my 
soul  by  the  spectacle  of  his  agony,  "no  one  can  make 
this  prayer  but  you.  We  will  get  down  with  you  and 
join  in  with  you,  but  you  must  be  the  leader." 

Low  down  Mr.  Levering  fell,  as  if  his  li]3S  would  touch 
the  dust,  and  every  man  went  down  with  him.  It  was  a 
prayer  never  to  be  written  and  yet  never  to  be  forgotten. 
It  had  in  it  the  resistless  might  of  intercession  ;  it  ached 
and  groaned  and  cried  with  confession ;  it  breathed 
mighty  appeals  and  towards  the  last  took  on  an  assur- 
ance, a  strength,  an  almost  imperious  demand  of  a  confi- 
dent faith  which  stormed  the  very  throne. 

When  it  ended  and  I  returned  to  sober  thought,  I  felt 
that  we  would  get  that  young  man.  The  meeting  ended 
with  a  prayer,  but  the  praying  went  on  all  day.  That 
night  as  I  was  in  the  vestibule  of  the  church,  waiting  till 
the  prayer  was  over,  Miss  Florence  Fuller,  the  lovely  and 
devout  aunt  of  the  young  man,  drew  up  to  me  and  said, 
"  1^0  hope  ;  no  hope  at  all.  I  tried  to  induce  him  to  come 
to-night  buthe  showed  no  interest ;  he  instead  took  his  skates 
and  went  to  the  park  to  spend  the  evening  in  skating." 

"Don't  say  it,  Miss  Florence,"  I  said  very  strongly. 
"God  is  good  and  God  is  faithful  and  He  cannot  get 
around  Joshua  Levering' s  prayer.  We  must  hear  from 
him  sooner  or  later. ' ' 

The  door  opened  and  we  entered  the  crowded  church 
and  at  the  proper  time  I  preached.  The  tide  of  heavenly 
feeling  rolled  high  that  night  and  the  only  thing  that  I 
remember  about  the  sermon  is  that  at  the  close  of  it  I  did 
an  unusual  thing  ;  did  it  under  a  moment's  impulse, 
though  I  had  never  done  exactly  that  thing  before  and 
have  never  done  it  since. 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  201 

"  This  ends  iny  sermou,"  I  said,  ''  and  if  tliere  is  to  be 
any  more  speaking,  I  open  the  way  to  hear  from  those 
who  know  not  God.  If  they  have  anything  to  say,  let 
them  say  on  and  say  it  before  this  assembly  of  God^s 
friends  and  let  them  say  it  now." 

Almost  instantly  a  tall,  commanding  figure  arose  at  the 
back  of  the  room.  ''Yes,"  said  he,  with  a  voice  ringing 
and  yet  very  serious,  ''  I  have  something  to  say.  If  there 
bo  a  God,  I  do  not  know  Him,  and  if  Jesus  is  the  Son  of 
God  and  the  Saviour  of  men,  I  do  not  know  Him,  but  I 
do  know  that  He  has  never  saved  me.  If  there  be  a  God, 
a  God  who  made  the  universe  and  made  me,  I  would  like 
to  know  Him,  and  if  Jesus  Christ  is  truly  the  Saviour  of 
the  lost,  I  wish  that  He  would  save  me.  If  any  of  you 
know  God,  I  wish  you  would  speak  to  Him  for  me  and 
tell  Him  that  one  of  His  creatures  is  lost  out  in  the  dark- 
ness and  would  like  to  know  Him ;  and  if  Jesus  Christ 
has  saved  any  of  you,  I  would  like  to  ask  that  you  will 
tell  Him  about  me,  a  lost  one,  and  ask  if  He  will  not 
show  me  mercy." 

Instantly  he  fell  back  to  his  seat  and  the  effect  was  in- 
stant and  irresistible.  Few  dreamed  who  he  was  but 
there  fell  upon  that  great  audience  the  conviction  that 
there  was  a  strong  young  man  whom  God  had  touched 
and  that  the  smitten  young  man  was  feeling  his  way  into 
the  light. 

I  was  overwhelmed  with  excitement  and  I  lifted  my 
hands,  pronounced  the  benediction  and  bade  the  people 
go.  As  the  house  was  emptying  itself,  I  chanced  to  see 
Mr.  Levering,  like  one  fighting  an  adverse  tide,  beating 
his  way  towards  the  pulpit,  and  in  time  he  sprang  upon 
the  platform  and  almost  shouted,  ''  There  he  is  ;  that  is 
Fuller  Kendall,  the  young  man  that  we  prayed  for  this 
morning." 

The  meeting  ended  without  my  hearing  anything  more 


202  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

from  the  youDg  man,  and  I  was  not  back  at  that  church 
for  nearly  ten  years  and  then  I  was  in  an  exchange  of 
pulpits  with  Dr.  F.  M.  Ellis,  then  the  pastor  of  the 
church.  In  the  afternoon  I  attended  the  Chinese  Sun- 
day-school in  that  church,  and  in  passing  through,  some 
one  plucked  my  coat  and  drew  me  around.  It  was  one 
of  the  teachers  with  his  solitary  Chinese  scholar. 

^'  Do  you  know  me  1 "  said  the  young  man,  rising  to  his 
feet,  and  I  replied  that  I  did  not.  "Do  you  remember,'^ 
he  continued  with  unconcealed  eagerness,  ''the  young 
man  who  rose  one  night  at  the  end  of  the  service  during 
the  meeting  you  held  here  with  Dr.  Kerfoot  and  said  that 
he  was  out  in  the  dark  and  would  like  to  get  back  into 
the  light?" 

''Yes,  indeed,"  I  replied;  "that  was  Fuller  Kendall, 
the  grandson  of  the  imperial  Eichard  Fuller." 

"  I  am  Fuller  Kendall,"  he  said  with  charming  simplic- 
ity. He  was  fair  and  strong  to  look  upon  and  I  let  my 
eyes  feast  upon  his  manly  beauty. 

"You  said  that  you  were  in  the  dark  that  night,"  I 
said  inquiringly  ;  "  may  I  ask  whether  you  ever  found  the 
light?" 

"Oh,  doctor  !  I  found  it,"  he  said  in  gentle  ecstasy 
and,  turning  to  the  Chinaman  and  putting  his  finger  upon 
his  shoulder,  he  continued,  "and  I  am  now  trying  to 
make  it  shine  into  the  benighted  heart  of  my  Chinese 
brother." 

Twenty  years  after  this  experience  I  preached  again  at 
the  Eutaw  Place  Church  and  told  this  story  outright, 
with  Joshua  Levering  in  front  of  me,  and  the  story  was  so 
reinforced  and  enriched  by  what  the  people  knew  of  the 
case,  that  all  hearts  seemed  to  get  a  new  warming  and 
tears  glistened  on  almost  every  cheek.  I  closed  by  inti- 
mating that  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  something  more  of 
the  subsequent  history  of  this  young  man.     I  was  told 


WAYSIDE  AND  OUTSIDE  203 

that  he  became  a  lawyer,  almost  a  rival  of  his  grand- 
father in  his  kingly  form  and  in  his  eloquence,  but  one  of 
the  ladies  came  up  and  said,  '' Evidently  you  have  not 
heard  ;  only  two  or  three  months  ago  his  end  came  and, 
as  we  stood  about  his  grave,  the  common  agreement  was 
that  the  best  of  all  our  brethren— the  very  best,  had 
been  taken  from  us  and  taken  because  he  was  the  readiest 
to  go.'' 


XIII 

THE  INEVITABLE  BOY 

POSSIBLY  it  was  the  hardships  of  my  boyhood,  my 
loneliness  without  a  mother,  my  bothers  about 
education,  the  perplexities  of  mj  religious  strug- 
gles, and  withal  some  heavenly  suggestion  unheard,  but 
powerfully  felt,  that  kindled  from  the  beginning  of  my  min- 
istry a  peculiar  interest  in  boys.  My  first  consciousness 
of  it  was  in  revivals,  and  every  boy  that  evinced  decided 
i  nterest  in  religion  instantly  grappled  me.  This  served 
to  stimulate  the  interest  and  it  was  noticed  that  even  in 
my  college  days  the  revival  meetings  that  I  held  were 
marked  by  unusual  interest  among  boys  and  girls. 
When  I  became  pastor  in  Manchester,  I  soon  had  a 
Sunday-school  thronged  with  boys  and  they  joined  the 
church  in  flocks.  In  almost  all  cases  they  were  the  sons  of 
the  poor,  boys  that  worked,  bright-minded  in  most  cases, 
but  with  inadequate  restraint  at  home  and  with  countless 
seductions  on  the  street  and  in  the  shops  and  factories 
where  they  worked.  At  first  they  would  come  singly,  or 
two  or  three  together  to  my  study  and  I  would  talk  to 
them.  Then  I  commenced  to  teach  them  to  sing  and 
after  a  while  we  had  what  was  called  the  boys'  meeting, 
which  lasted  and  grew  until  I  left  the  town.  From  Man- 
chester I  went  to  the  Franklin  Square  Church  in  Balti- 
more, and  soon  I  found  myself  happy  in  the  life  and  work 
of  the  boys'  meeting  ;  from  Baltimore  I  went  to  the  First 
Baptist  Church,  of  Petersburg,  and  there  the  boys 
gathered  in  troops,  and  during  my  seven  years  there  the 
boys'  meeting  was  the  very  poetry  and  song  and  pride 

204 


THE  INEVITABLE  BOY  205 

and  poorer  of  my  pastorate.  There  the  boys  were  trained 
for  the  pl^itform  and  their  performances  were  read  of  and 
duiDlicated  in  many  directions. 

Bat  my  interest  in  boys  never  rose  to  its  full  height 
until  May,  1875,  when  I  became  the  pastor  of  the  Grace 
Street  Baptist  Church,  and  where  I  remained  for  twenty- 
six  years  almost  to  the  day.  The  church  had  a  large 
Sunday-school,  with  the  boys  greatly  in  preponderance, 
and  the  first  year  of  my  work  there  brought  about  250 
new  members  into  the  church.  Among  them  was  the  in- 
evitable boy,  and  for  that  matter  he  was  already  in  the 
church  and  there  were  scores  of  the  unchurched  boys.  It 
seemed  that  I  had  found  my  inheritance  at  last,— banks 
and  tides  and  storms  of  boys.  The  boys'  meeting  was 
founded  in  December  of  that  year,  and  as  an  augury  of 
things  to  come  Carter  Helm  Jones  was  the  first  president. 
That  meeting  continued  unbroken  for  twenty-five  years 
and  six  months  and  went  out  of  existence  when  I  went 
out  of  the  pastorate. 

The  boy  is  a  perishable  asset.  I  set  the  limit  for 
transferring  the  larger  boys  at  fifteen,  though  there  were 
many  cases  of  self- elimination  and  a  noble  company  that 
lovingly  overstayed  their  time.  The  attendance  often 
arose  towards  a  hundred  and  fifty  ;  that  would  generally 
be  after  our  fruitful  revival  seasons,  and  then  the  tide 
would  go  down,  but  it  rarely  fell  below  fifty,  and  the 
regularity  of  the  boys  in  attendance  was  a  miracle  of 
fidelity.  I  often  said  that  that  was  the  only  meeting  unaf- 
fected by  seasons  or  weather.  Eain  and  snow  had  little 
effect  except  upon  many  of  the  jjarents  who  were  glad 
enough  to  shift  their  restless  youngsters  over  to  me  to 
break  the  strain  of  the  afternoon  ;  and  as  for  the  boys 
themselves  they  had  no  rheumatism,  no  outside  engage- 
ments, no  sweethearts  to  count  and  undying  joy  in  their 
meeting.     We  usually  held  the  meeting  at  half-past  two 


206  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

in  the  afternoon,  but  many  of  the  boys  would  beg  that 
they  might  come  into  my  study  a  little  beforehand,  and 
precious  chats  and  songs  we  often  had  together.  The 
purpose  in  the  early  hour  of  meeting  was  to  avoid  conflict 
with  other  afternoon  exercises  and  to  afford  me  oppor- 
tunities to  meet  engagements  to  preach  or  speak  elsewhere 
at  a  later  hour. 

The  exercises  were  largely  without  form  but  never 
void  of  spice  and  life.  We  had  a  great  deal  of  singing 
which  much  of  the  time  I  had  to  lead,  but  at  other  times 
I  had  efficient  help,  given  gratuitously  by  great-hearted 
men  who  saw  the  good  of  the  meeting.  How  the  boys  did 
sing  !  Oh,  the  memory  of  it  floods  me  with  joy  at  this 
moment.  Sometimes  we  had  boys  to  sing  solos ;  some- 
times duets,  quartettes,  and  they  did  it  well ;  and  as  for  the 
choral  songs  they  were  thrilling,  heart-stirring,  and  the 
boys  revelled  in  them  with  joy  untenable.  Men  and 
women  flocked  to  the  meetings  at  times  to  get  a  taste  of 
the  boys^  songs  and  to  witness  the  other  exercises.  We 
had  a  business  schedule  including  the  calling  of  the  roll, 
reading  the  minutes,  receiving  new  members  and  having 
little  exercises  such  as  repeating  passages  of  Scripture, 
reciting  standard  hymns,  short  speeches,  written  by  my- 
self, finely  spoken  by  the  boys,  the  never  forgotten  collec- 
tion and  incidental  things  as  they  came. 

I  took  the  utmost  pains  in  having  the  choicest  men  of 
the  country  to  address  the  boys.  Dr.  Eichard  Fuller  of 
Baltimore  was  their  orator  on  one  occasion  ;  Mr.  Charles 
Pratt,  the  Brooklyn  millionaire,  told  them  in  most  ef- 
fective style  the  story  of  his  boyhood  life  ;  lawyers  un- 
counted were  the  orators  of  set  occasions  ;  Bishop  Newton 
of  the  Episcopal  Church  was  always  ready  to  come  upon 
call ;  physicians  came  sometimes  and  gave  such  primary 
talks  on  physiological  or  Christian  topics  as  they  might 
select  J  eminent  missionaries  while  in  the  city  were  often 


THE  INEVITABLE  BOY  207 

pressed  into  service  j  business  men  were  always  ready  to 
come  and  tell  the  boys  the  ups  and  downs  of  life  ;  and 
later  on  my  "old  boys,"  as  they  rose  to  distinction,  were 
called  back  and  we  would  have  fine  reunions  with  them. 
As  for  myself  I  was  always  picking  up  things  for  the 
boys,  vital,  pungent,  boy-enlisting  things,  and  it  was  no 
trouble  to  keep  the  boys  quiet  if  you  had  anything  for 
them  that  suited  their  case  and  kind. 

At  times  the  spiritual  features  of  the  meeting  became 
distinct.  I  must  say  that  the  Christian  boys  in  the  meet- 
ing were  living  wonders,  many  of  them  of  good  living 
and  manly  bearing,  not  a  few  would  lead  in  i)rayer,  and 
some  were  ready  with  their  testimonies,  though  I  never 
frightened  them  by  overpressure  and  never  reproached 
those  who  did  not  dare  even  to  open  their  lips. 

The  spirit  of  the  boys  made  the  meeting  self-perpet- 
uating. They  always  had  bright  and  cheery  things  to 
say  about  the  meeting,  were  amazingly  proud  of  it,  and 
it  was  fine  to  see  how  they  lured  other  boys  in  and  per- 
suaded them  to  join,  and  they  delighted  to  bring  them 
forward  and  make  them  known  to  me. 

The  great  bulk  of  these  boys  attended  worship  on  Sun- 
day morning.  They  occupied  the  front  seats,  and  in  case 
of  an  overflow  they  bunched  themselves  on  the  platform 
in  front  of  the  pulpit,  packed  themselves  on  the  pulpit 
steps  and  on  many  occasions  overflowed  into  the  pulpit. 
They  were  among  my  best  hearers,  and  as  we  had  our 
hymns  for  worship  on  slips,  each  boy  had  his  slip  and 
sang  not  only  with  evident  enjoyment,  but  with  a  sweet- 
ness and  reverence  which  gladdened  the  audience.  For 
many  years  these  hymn  slips  were  distributed  to  the  au- 
dience as  it  assembled  by  a  detail  of  my  boys,  not  uni- 
formed, but  yet  with  certain  articles  of  dress  alike ;  their 
order  was  admirable,  they  did  their  work  with  grace  and 
dignity,  and  were  always  the  talk  of  strangers.     It  used 


208  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

to  be  said  that  the  other  churches  decorated  their  pulpits 
with  flowers,  but  that  I  made  bold  to  decorate  mine  with 
boj's.  I  recall  that  on  one  occasion  the  distiuguished 
Alvah  Hovey  attended  our  church,  and  he  was  quite  ex- 
travagant in  his  praises  of  the  boys,  their  order,  their 
music  and  their  good  attention. 

It  was  easy  to  get  the  boys  to  take  little  parts,  repeating 
verses  of  Scripture  or  hymns,  or  sometimes  delivering  lit- 
tle speeches  of  which  I  had  quite  a  good  many  prepared, 
and  it  was  amazing  to  note  the  thorough  self-possession 
which  they  so  soon  acquired.  I  remember  one  boy  whose 
timidity  was  pitiable,  and  he  implored  me  not  to  make 
him  stand  up  to  say  anything.  Finally  he  promised  to 
commit  one  stanza  of  a  hymn  and  to  say  it  to  me  next 
Sunday  afternoon  in  my  study.  He  was  on  hand  in  time 
and  was  in  a  tremor  in  view  of  what  he  had  to  do.  He 
stumbled  through  it  and  readily  tried  it  again,  and  after 
several  repetitions  his  tongue  was  glib  and  confident. 
Presently  another  boy  came  in,  and  he  said  it  to  him,  and 
before  the  time  for  the  meeting  there  was  a  group  of  boys 
clustered  around  us,  and  he  rehearsed  it  to  them.  When 
we  went  down  to  the  boys'  meeting  I  asked  him  if  he 
would  not  say  it,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  to  comply.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  had  him  in  a  popular  entertainment 
with  almost  a  thousand  people  present,  and  with  unruf- 
fled composure  and  in  a  tone  distinctly  audible  he  took  a 
part  and  won  happy  applause. 

This  reminds  me  that  my  boys  were  great  money  mak- 
ers. They  always  had  their  collection,  and  hardly  a 
boy  came  that  did  not  bring  a  penny  or  more.  They 
were  always  glad  to  prepare  their  songs  and  their  dia- 
logues, which  usually  I  composed  for  them  in  my  spare 
moments,  and  to  give  entertainments,  and  we  could  get 
no  hall  big  enough  to  hold  their  crowds.  They  were 
often  invited  to  go  to  other  churches  to  sing  and  render 


THE  INEVITABLE  BOY  209 

their  dialogues  for  the  benefit  of  any  good  cause  that 
came  along.  Many  times  the  boys  would  have  an  even- 
ing's entertainment  with  no  outside  help.  One  would 
preside,  one  make  an  address  of  welcome,  ever  so  many 
would  sing  in  the  choruses,  take  part  in  the  dialogues  and 
other  things,  and  then  hand  the  baskets  around,  and  they 
always  came  back  heavy  laden,  for  their  audiences 
jammed  every  corner  of  the  building,  laughed  and  cried 
under  the  boyish  magnetism  as  its  spell  fell  upon  them, 
and  dropped  in  their  money  with  a  joyous  liberality.  It 
was  estimated  that  during  its  lifetime  over  810,000  passed 
through  the  treasury  of  their  society  and  on  one  occasion 
the  church  itself,  finding  itself  in  a  strait,  borrowed  quite 
a  sum  of  money  from  the  boys.  When  our  new  church 
was  built  the  boys  had  an  entertainment  which  turned 
them  out  over  $600.  They  never  made  a  i3romise  of 
money  that  they  did  not  fully  redeem,  and  their  faces 
glowed  with  pride  whenever  they  took  part  in  raising 
money  for  Christian  purposes.  When  the  Sunday-school 
had  its  anniversary, — an  event  always  of  great  popular 
interest,  the  most  eagerly  anticipated  features  of  the  oc- 
casion were  the  boys'  dialogues.  Again  and  again  groups 
of  them  went  to  the  country  and  did  their  parts  for  the 
benefit  of  the  country  churches,  and  so  far  had  their  fame 
spread  that  the  crowds  followed  them  wherever  they 
went.  I  sometimes  took  them  out  for  a  picnic  in  the 
country,  and  they  were  gladly  received  everywhere,  for 
their  reputation  for  good  order,  inspiring  music  and  cap- 
tivating speaking  always  insured  them  a  royal  wel- 
come. 

During  the  lifetime  of  the  boys'  meeting  there  were  not 
over  three  boys  that  were  requested  to  discontinue  their 
attendance  on  account  of  serious  disorder,  and  even  in 
those  cases  the  honorable  and  thoughtful  boys  showed 
grief  that  such  a  course  of  action  was  necessary.     What 


210  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

was  exceedingly  satisfactory  to  me  was  the  cordial  respect 
shown  by  the  church  for  the  meeting.  It  became  one  of 
the  regular  institutions,  and  at  our  annual  meetings  the 
boys'  report  was  rendered,  and  always  heard  with  strong 
signs  of  pride  and  satisfaction. 

Something  has  been  said  about  the  dialogues  and  some- 
thing more  in  candor  ought  to  be  said.  The  dialogues 
were  somewhat  elaborate,  having  anywhere  from  three  to 
eight  or  ten  participants.  Humor  and  local  hits  almost 
invariably  constituted  a  part,  but  the  tone  of  these  pieces 
was  reverential,  courteous,  free  from  slang  and  always 
carried  a  note  strong  and  ringing  in  favor  of  the  right. 
They  frequently  hit  off  the  fads,  the  cheats  and  the  pre- 
tenses of  every-day  life.  Sometimes  they  dealt  with 
honesty  ;  sometimes  with  kindness  to  the  weak ;  some- 
times with  temperance  ;  sometimes  with  the  faults  of 
boys, — indeed  they  touched  almost  every  phase  of  life 
and  their  voice  was  always  authoritative  in  support  of 
the  truth.  It  was  a  remarkable  thing  that  new  boys 
were  worked  into  almost  every  occasion  and  had  long 
parts,  and  yet  through  all  the  years  there  was  never  a 
breakdown  or  even  a  serious  hitch  ; — so  faithful  were  the 
boys  in  doing  what  they  were  told  to  do.  The  meeting 
was  peculiar ;  its  exact  like  I  have  not  known  any- 
where. Frankly  it  was  a  great  strain  upon  me  and  yet 
it  was  an  unfailing  fountain  of  life.  It  was  a  rejuvena- 
tion to  mix  with  such  buoyant,  responsive  and  happy 
beings  as  composed  that  extraordinary  meeting.  I 
honestly  feel  that  I  got  as  much  out  of  it  as  I  put  into  it. 
It  seemed  to  foster  the  self-respect  of  the  boys.  It  was 
not  a  heavy,  tiresome  thing.  What  instruction  they  got 
was  in  small  doses  spiced  and  seasoned  with  humor  and 
kindness.  They  had  a  sense  of  freedom  and  proprietor- 
ship in  the  meeting  that  bred  in  them  the  joy  of  manhood. 
They  did  not  have  to  come.     The  mothers  said  that  they 


THE  INEVITABLE  BOY  211 

could  hardly  hold  the  boys  until  they  got  their  dinner  and 
that  you  know  is  a  well-nigh  incredible  thing  to  say 
about  a  normal  boy.  There, were  many  of  them  that 
came  for  eight  years  and  a  few  for  ten  and  scarcely 
missed  a  meeting  during  all  that  time.  They  met  every 
Sunday  and  all  the  year  round,  unless  I  was  out  of  the 
city.  I  tried  the  meetings  in  the  hands  of  substitutes  but 
somehow  things  went  not  well. 

How  did  the  boys  turn  out  ?  I  never  heard  of  but  one 
of  them  that  fell  into  disgrace  and  he  was  a  hardened  boy 
before  he  came  under  the  meeting's  spell.  Of  course  they 
were  no  extraordinary  boys, — only  a  fair  average,  and 
yet  my  grateful  soul  bows  down  in  thanksgiving  as  I 
think  what  magnificent  men  went  out  of  that  meeting. 
Many  of  them  went  into  the  trades,  the  stores,  the 
foundries  and  the  shops,  but  they  grew  up  among  the 
very  best  of  their  class.  Ever  so  many  of  them  caught  a 
passion  for  learning  and  went  off  to  the  colleges  and  uni- 
versities. They  became  a  distinct  class  in  Richmond  and 
indeed  far  and  wide,  and  I  cannot  even  to  this  day  go  in 
any  i)art  of  the  country  but  they  run  upon  me  on  the 
train,  on  the  steamers,  in  the  hotels,  in  the  churches 
where  I  am  advertised  to  speak,  and  their  greeting  almost 
invariably  is,  ''Here  is  one  of  your  boys  ;  do  you  know 
meV  As  for  the  lawyers,  the  doctors,  the  bankers,  the 
merchants,  the  travellers, — I  see  them  on  all  roads  and 
get  letters  from  them  telling  me  of  their  joys  and  some- 
times of  their  sorrows.  It  is  a  princely  constituency,  a 
free-born  brotherhood,  my  pride  and  my  crown. 

This  is  not  written  to  reflect  upon  any  pastor  who  has 
no  boys'  meeting,  nor  is  it  intended  as  a  plea  that  others 
shall  undertake  such  a  movement.  That  is  not  for  me  to 
say.  It  was  of  my  own  heart  that  I  gave  myself  to  this 
species  of  work,  and  as  I  was  free  about  it  I  seek  to 
trammel  no  man  nor  to  browbeat  him  into  attempting 


212  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

wliat  was  such  a  fruitful  and  invigorating  phase  of  my 
ministerial  life. 

I»fot  very  long  ago  I  was  summoned  by  my  old  church 
in  Richmond  to  make  on  the  occasion  of  their  anniversary 
a  reminiscent  address.  It  was  the  joy  of  a  lifetime  to  see 
the  vast  throng  which  filled  the  great  auditorium,  but 
what  charmed  me  most  was  to  see  about  three  hundred 
of  my  boys  march  in  as  a  body.  In  look  and  form  they 
were  boys  no  more ;  many  of  them  had  their  own  boys 
with  them  and  things  showed  a  shocking  change,  but  in 
the  happy  hour  after  the  exercises  were  over,  when  I 
shook  the  strong  hand,  when  I  saw  on  many  a  face  the 
tears  which  told  of  melted  hearts,  when  I  felt  strong 
arms  around  me  and  heard  words  all  freighted  with  love 
and  kindness,  I  felt  that  my  boys  w^ere  still  living  and 
that  out  on  the  eternal  hills  somewhere  we  would  have  a 
reunion  and  know  each  other  forever. 


XIV 

BETHEL  BUILDING 

IN  the  long  run  of  life  men  gravitate  towards  special- 
ties. They  find  the  things  they  can  do  and  learn  to 
do  them  better  by  doing  them  so  often.  It  would 
be  quite  impossible  for  me  to  recall  all  the  occasions  of 
church  dedications  for  which  my  brethren  have  called  me 
into  service.  These  dedicatory  engagements  have  taken 
me  into  many  states  and  into  many  of  the  larger  cities, 
but  perhaps  my  most  pleasing  and  comfortable  recollec- 
tions cluster  around  the  little  country  churches  in  whose 
opening  services  I  was  brought  to  take  part.  I  may  as 
well  be  candid  about  it  and  say  that  the  frequency  with 
which  I  was  called  into  these  services  could  not  be  taken 
as  tokens  of  unusual  popularity  on  my  part.  In  multi- 
tudes of  cases  these  houses  of  worship  were  built  and 
made  ready  for  dedication  while  yet  there  rested  upon 
them  more  or  less  indebtedness.  To  my  no  little  em- 
barrassment I  won  the  reputation  for  some  success  in 
engineering  public  collections  of  money  and  I  understood 
well  enough  that  my  selection  had  a  very  vital  connec- 
tion with  the  inevitable  collection  that  had  to  be  taken 
before  the  dedication  of  the  house.  It  became  known 
quite  widely  that  I  did  not  favor  the  dedication  of 
churches  upon  which  there  were  heavy  mortgages  or 
heavy  indebtednesses  which  imperilled  the  building,  and 
my  agreement  to  conduct  the  service  generally  implied 
that  the  debt  must  be  removed  or  satisfactorily  provided 
for  in  advance.     It  was  not  long  before  I  learned  that  it 

213 


214  ALONG  TPIE  TRAIL 

was  unwisdom  itself  to  trust  to  the  whims  and  moods  of 
a  promiscuous  audience  for  a  collection.  It  became  my 
custom  to  go  the  day  beforehand,  hold  an  ''inquiry 
meeting,"  as  I  called  it,  in  which  I  had  my  tussle  with 
the  leading  men  of  the  church  as  to  the  financial  situa- 
tion. It  was  quite  common  to  find  that  the  men  of  the 
church  were  quite  satisfied  with  what  they  had  already 
done  and  they  brought  me  on  the  scene  with  the  pleasing 
thought  that  I  would  induce  the  outsiders  to  wipe  out  the 
rest  of  the  debt.  They  usually  opened  the  interview 
with  me  by  complacently  saying  that  they  had  done 
about  all  they  could  and  that  they  did  not  expect  to  give 
any  more.  It  was  a  gruesome  task  to  assail  their  com- 
placency and  to  explode  their  delusion.  In  a  few  cases 
they  stood  by  their  guns  and  utterly  refused  to  boost  the 
collection  by  additional  gifts,  and  without  exception  the 
occasion  ended  in  financial  disaster. 

Usually,  however,  it  was  possible  to  make  them  see  the 
situation,  to  realize  that  they  must  lead  in  the  giving  in 
order  to  get  others  to  give  at  all,  and  that  if  they  would 
not  give,  the  occasion  would  fail  by  turning  the  dedica- 
tion into  a  tragedy  and  leaving  upon  the  church  the  en- 
tire burden.  I  hardly  recall  a  single  case  in  which  the 
church  people,  the  real  burden-bearers,  evinced  extraor- 
dinary liberality  that  the  congregation  did  not  fall  in  and 
render  valuable  help  in  extinguishing  the  debt.  In  al- 
most every  case  the  dedicatory  exercises  would  fill  the 
day.  If  after  the  sermon  sufficient  money  was  realized 
to  cover  the  debt,  the  formal  dedicatory  service  would 
take  place  at  once. 

If,  however,  there  was  a  deficiency,  the  dedication  was 
laid  over  until  the  afternoon  service  and  another  appeal 
for  money  was  made,  and  in  a  few  instances  a  third  serv- 
ice would  be  held  in  the  evening  if  sufficient  money  had 
not  already  come  in,  and  the  last  thing  of  the  entire  day 


BETHEL  BUILDING  215 

would  be  the  formal  setting  apart  of  the  house  for  the 
worship  of  God. 

To  uiauy  readers  this  account  will  come  as  with  some- 
thing of  a  shock.  They  will  be  surprised  at  methods  so 
primal,  so  mechanical  and  so  straining,  but  it  is  worth 
while  to  remember  that  these  things  occurred  during  the 
reconstruction  period  of  the  South,  when  the  country  peo- 
ple were  in  a  deadly  struggle  to  rebuild  their  fortunes  and 
when  they  had  but  little  money  for  any  purpose.  The 
building  of  churches  at  such  a  time  was  arduous  indeed 
and  they  had  to  do  just  the  best  they  could.  There  were 
many  extraordinary  cases  of  magnificent  giving.  It  was 
no  uncommon  occurrence  for  the  tide  of  giving  to  gather 
such  strength  that  it  would  land  us  far  above  the  amount 
asked  for  and  leave  a  welcome  surplus  in  the  treasury. 
These  happy  surprises  gave  a  peculiar  rapture  and  en- 
thusiasm to  the  occasions.  I  recall  one  service  in  the 
dedication  of  a  house  in  the  smallest  sort  of  a  village  and 
in  which  the  church- membership  was  small  and  poor. 
The  house  had  not  cost  much  and  there  was  a  debt  of  a 
few  hundred  dollars.  I  had  my  inquirers'  meeting,  and 
one  untutored  and  simple-hearted  old  brother  opened  the 
exercises  by  volunteering  to  say  that  if  I  could  get  $30  in 
the  collection  that  morning  that  he  would  think  it  would 
be  a  great  victory.  I  told  him  with  a  severity  somewhat 
simulated  that  I  would  not  touch  the  collection  unless  he 
would  promise  to  give  $30  on  the  spot.  The  look  of 
amazement  which  he  gave  me  was  quite  a  comedy  in  it- 
self and  shook  the  little  company  into  noisy  merriment, 
and  nearly  every  man  in  the  room  gave  me  $30  each,  in- 
cluding my  good  Brother  Collins  who  had  taken  such  a 
depressing  view  of  the  outlook  of  the  occasion.  When  the 
collection  came  on,  and  these  brethren  one  after  another 
arose  and  in  such  cheery  tones  announced  their  subscrip- 
tions in  quick  succession,  it  started  a  tide  that  fairly 


216  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

cleaned  up  the  neighborhood.  Not  only  was  the  debt 
paid  but  the  modest  little  church  found  itself  in  con- 
dition to  add  ever  so  many  comforts  and  ornaments  of 
which  it  had  not  dreamed. 

In  a  notable  dedication  I  was  associated  with  Dr.  Geo. 
C.  Lorimer  of  Boston.  He  was  to  preach  in  the  morning 
and  take  his  collection  and  I  was  to  preach  in  the  evening 
and  make  my  appeal  for  money.  Dr.  Lorimer  was  a  man 
of  transcendent  eloquence  and  on  that  occasion  preached  a 
sermon  of  almost  unparallelled  power.  It  was,  however, 
one  hour  and  a  quarter  in  length  and  was  preceded  by  a 
very  elaborate  musical  schedule,  and  though  the  house  was 
filled  largely  with  a  ticketed  audience  there  was  an  almost 
unanimous  stampede  when  Lorimer  brought  on  his  col- 
lection. The  people  were  wild  over  the  sermon  and  were 
also  wild  to  get  out  when  his  sermon  was  through,  and  his 
collection  suffered  sore  disasters.  At  night  many  of  the 
neighboring  churches  of  the  same  denomination  closed 
their  houses  and  came  in  overwhelming  numbers  to  our 
service.  I  was  in  the  worst  stages  of  my  first  experience 
with  grippe.  I  had  stayed  in  bed  all  the  afternoon  and 
started  for  the  church  with  deadly  aches  in  every  quarter 
of  my  anatomy,  with  a  nausea  the  most  dismal,  with  my 
brain  almost  on  the  verge  of  delirium  and  my  voice  scarcely 
audible  to  the  natural  ear.  Lorimer  presided  and  gave 
me  an  introduction  which  would  have  been  ruinous  under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances, but  which  filled  me  with 
helpless  terror.  I  really  went  to  the  front  seriously 
doubting  whether  I  could  stand  or  speak.  In  some  way 
a  new  vitality  arose  in  me.  My  voice  returned  ;  all  sense 
of  suffering  went  out  and  I  preached  without  strain  or  in- 
convenience for  about  thirty  minutes.  Then  came  the 
task  of  asking  for  the  money.  I  was  in  despair  as  to  the 
result  and  stage-struck  to  the  last  degree.  I  blundered 
out  the  remark  that  I  was  pleased  to  see  what  a  choice 


BETHEL  BUILDING  217 

and  beautiful  audience  I  had, — a  thing  that  had  no  par- 
ticular sense  in  it,  but  Lorimer,  facetious,  amiable,  im- 
pudent and  always  full  of  wit,  remarked  that  my  audience 
might  do  very  well,  but  that  he  wanted  it  understood  that 
no  man  ever  had  such  a  fine  audience  as  he  had  in  the 
morning.  I  told  him  I  thought  I  could  safely  claim  that 
my  crowd  would  never  forsake  me  so  ingloriously  as  his 
did  in  the  morning  and  that  if  they  did  I  thought  I  would 
go  out  and  hang  myself.  The  audience  broke  into  happy 
laughter,  put  me  at  my  ease  and  went  quite  beyond  the 
morning  audience  in  its  contributions  to  the  church  fund. 
Whenever  there  was  a  pause  in  the  giving  I  would  ask 
Lorimer  what  he  thought  of  the  staying  qualities  of  my 
constituents  and  would  call  his  attention  to  the  fact  that 
I  never  lost  a  man.  The  mystery  of  it  all,  as  yet  unex- 
plained, is  that  during  the  sermon  and  the  collection  I  was 
free  from  pain,  about  as  free  from  it  and  as  full  of  com- 
fort and  enjoyment  as  I  had  ever  been  in  my  life,  while 
for  three  days  before  I  had  suffered  unspeakable  tortures, 
and  after  the  service  I  was  hopelessly  delirious  before  I 
reached  my  hotel,  and  I  had  a  night  of  keenest  suffering. 

During  my  pastorate  in  Eichmond  my  i^eople  erected  a 
very  noble  edifice  but  decided  there  should  be  no  appeal 
for  money  at  the  dedication  beyond  the  usual  weekly  of- 
fering. The  occasion  was  memorable  in  many  respects 
but  perhaps  most  of  all  by  reason  of  the  fact  that  the 
sermon  on  the  occastion  was  preached,  as  I  have  already 
said,  by  Dr.  John  A.  Broadus,  the  incomparable  preacher 
of  the  South.  That  was  his  last  visit  to  Eichmond  and  it 
so  chanced  that  not  long  afterwards  the  magnificent  house 
was  burned  and  that  too  not  far  from  the  time  when  Dr. 
Broadus  finished  his  masterful  career  and  entered  into 
his  heavenly  rest. 

In  no  great  while  and  practically  without  debt  my  peo- 
ple replaced  the  house  with  a  handsome  granite  structure 


218  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

and  laid  upon  me  not  as  a  burden  but  as  a  token  of  their 
gracious  kindness  tlie  task  of  preacliing  the  dedicatory 
sermon.  Some  things  come  to  men  in  a  way  that  they  are 
made  untellably  grateful  and  I  cannot  deny  myself  the 
pleasure  of  commemorating  here  that  event  as  one  of  a 
class  of  events  by  which  that  church  of  churches,  the 
church  of  my  happy  memories,  the  church  which  came 
nearest  of  all  earthly  things  to  being  my  idol,  did  for  me. 
On  a  recent  occasion  I  went  to  the  dedication  of  a  rural 
church  on  which  there  was  a  debt  of  about  two  thousand 
dollars.  After  reaching  the  grounds  we  summoned  the 
leading  members  of  the  church  to  a  conference  at  a  point 
in  the  park  which  surrounded  the  building.  We  laid 
plans  for  raising  the  money  and  hammered  it  into  the 
members  quite  vigorously  that  they  must  acquit  them- 
selves on  the  occasion  with  exemplary  liberality.  Mean- 
while the  church  building  was  thronged  with  the  peo- 
ple. It  was  with  difaculty  that  the  ministers  edged  and 
pushed  themselves  in  through  the  rear  door  and  reached 
the  pulpit.  The  sermon  was  delivered  and  the  appeal 
for  money  to  wipe  out  the  debt  was  suitably  made; 
but  there  was  a  silence  at  once  surprising  and  de- 
pressing. The  pastor  looked  impotently  in  every  direc- 
tion, but  his  staunch  old  standbys  were  not  apparent 
and  no  gifts  were  announced.  We  charitably  announced 
that  the  suffocating  crowd  had  shut  out  the  gentlemen  of 
the  church  and  the  collection  would  be  looked  after  later, 
though  in  the  inward  recesses  of  our  being  we  wondered 
whether  the  absence  of  the  members  was  more  to  be  ac- 
counted for  on  the  score  of  their  inability  to  get  in  or  from 
a  willingness,  superinduced  by  the  dread  of  the  collection, 
to  stay  out.  If  the  latter  supposition  was  the  true  one  it 
is  due  to  history  to  say  that  the  attempt  to  evade  the  col- 
lection did  not  carry  well  because  the  membership  was 
corralled  in  the  afternoon  and  the  bulk  of  the  money  wa^ 


BETHEL  BUILDING  219 

forthcoming.  It  transpired  under  the  light  of  a  varied 
experience  that  usually  in  talking  money  at  a  dedication 
for  the  removal  of  the  debt  that  the  average  of  money 
given  by  outsiders  on  such  occasions  is  somewhere  from 
one-fourth  to  one-third  of  what  the  church -membership 
gives  at  the  time.  In  many  cases  the  members  flatter 
themselves  that  the  service  will  attract  a  great  throng, 
and  in  that  they  are  usually  right,  and  they  fancy  also 
that  the  visitors  will  be  very  liberal,  while  the  result 
usually  shows  they  will  not. 

Some  have  chosen  to  brand  me  as  the  professional 
church  dedicator,  and  inasmuch  as  it  seems  that  the  num- 
ber of  such  occasions  on  which  I  have  been  called  to  take 
part  falls  not  very  much  short  of  two  hundred,  I  must  not 
resent  the  nickname  thus  imposed.  It  is  not  a  work  to  be 
sought  after,  but  it  is  a  work  that  can  be  usefully  done, 
and  as  my  time  in  these  latter  days  is  at  my  own  com- 
mand I  rejoice  that  I  can  be  of  some  service  in  that  way. 

Largely  incidental  to  the  happy  burdens  that  came  to 
my  shoulders  in  the  way  of  church  dedications  came  also 
a  small  dip  into  the  precarious  resort  to  the  popular 
lecture.  The  modest  avowal  is  entered  here  that  neither 
self-interest  nor  ambition  took  any  part  in  bringing  me  to 
the  lecture  platform. 

The  Civil  War  did  its  destructive  work  in  manifold 
ways,  and  one  of  the  saddest  of  its  ways  was  the  destruc- 
tion or  dismantling  of  houses  of  worship.  Some  were 
burned,  some  were  turned  into  hospitals,  some  became 
temporary  barracks  for  detachments  of  the  army.  Some 
were  turned  into  stables,  some  were  wrecked  and  left  to 
the  weather  and  to  vandalism  to  finish  the  job.  Indeed 
nearly  all  of  the  country  churches  were  in  sad  need  of  re- 
pair, and  the  process  of  political  reconstruction  griev- 
ously stayed  the  tide  of   industrial  progress.     Money 


220  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

was  scarce  and  the  people  had  a  desperate  struggle  in  re- 
building their  fortunes.  It  is  not  hard  to  understand 
how  at  such  a  time  houses  of  worship  went  to  pieces  and 
were  in  sore  need  of  rehabilitation. 

The  good  women  in  the  little  churches  resorted  to  all 
kinds  of  expedients  for  gathering  funds  for  putting  on  new 
roofs,  painting  the  walls,  buying  Sunday-school  literature, 
installing  their  little  reed  organs  and  many  other  things 
to  get  their  churches  into  housekeeping  shape.  I  was 
born  in  the  country  and  seemed  to  be  born  for  it.  My 
soul  was  wedded  to  the  rural  churches,  and  it  was  delight 
unspeakable  to  me  to  go  to  the  far-away  places  to  hold 
revivals  and  cheer  up  the  small  households  of  faith  as  far 
as  I  could  steal  time  from  my  pastorate  for  that  purpose. 
Out  of  this  grew  a  few  lectures  which  I  made  and  for 
which  there  was  incessant  demand  from  the  churches  in 
city,  town  and  country.  Sometimes  I  paid  my  own  fare, 
gave  all  the  income  of  the  lecture  to  the  suffering  church 
and  had  a  day  of  delicious  fellowship  with  the  little  band 
of  Christian  workers.  As  a  rule  they  would  pay  my  ex- 
penses, which  were  calculated  with  skillful  accuracy  so  as 
to  avoid  not  giving  me  too  little,  and  now  and  then  I 
would  be  surprised  to  find  some  actual  compensation  in 
the  little  wad  of  greenbacks  which  would  be  thrust  into 
my  hands  when  I  was  starting  on  my  return.  One  of  the 
lectures  was  on  ^'  The  Advantages  of  the  Modern  Dance, '^ 
and  I  delivered  it  so  many  times  and  through  so  many 
years  that  a  friend  of  mine,  an  uupitying  satirist,  sug- 
gested to  me  that  I  would  change  the  topic  and  call  it, 
'^The  Financial  Advantages  of  the  Modern  Dance." 
I  told  him  in  rather  severe  terms  that  he  was  outraging 
sacred  things  in  shedding  his  flippant  sneers  at  the 
lecture.  ^'That  lecture,"  I  said,  with  simulated  resent- 
ment, ''has  been  roofing  churches,  buying  organs,  pro- 
viding libraries  for  Sunday-schools,  laying  out  and  enclos- 


BETHEL  BUILDING  221 

ing  cemeteries,  helping  sewing  circles,  raising  money  to 
educate  young  preachers,  replenishing  missionary  treas- 
uries, provoking  the  nimble-footed  children  of  Terpsichore 
and  wearing  out  my  best  clothes  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury.'^ 

Perhaps  the  next  most  useful  lecture  of  the  unpreten- 
tious little  group  had  for  its  title,  **  Whose  Neighbor 
am  I  ?  "  It  used  to  go  with  me  to  church  entertainments, 
dedications  and  numberless  other  denominational  gather- 
ings, and  in  addition  to  the  door  fee  which  it  demanded  it 
warmed  the  cockles  of  many  rustic  hearts  to  the  point  of 
opening  their  purses  and  helping  the  churches  in  their 
work  of  reconstruction.  I  was  urged  now  and  then  to 
join  some  of  the  lecture  associations  and  try  my  hand  in 
larger  fields,  but  not  for  a  moment  did  I  ever  think  of  it. 
That  was  outside  of  my  ministerial  outlook. 


XIV 

SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING 

A  GOER  by  nature  I  have  been  a  traveller  by  habit, 
and  that  too  without  being  in  the  least  sense  a 
mountain  climber,  a  tourist  or  a  sightseer.  Ex- 
cept in  trivial  ways  I  never  passed  out  of  the  boundaries 
of  our  country  but  twice,— once  into  Mexico  and  once  for 
a  few  months  across  the  Atlantic.  It  would  distinctly 
violate  the  very  conception  of  this  reminiscent  volume  to 
indulge  in  the  smallest  degree  in  the  story  of  these  modest 
little  rambles.  As  for  my  trip  across  the  Atlantic,  it  was 
notably  commonplace  in  its  schedules,  its  financial  out- 
lays, its  gathering  of  relics,  its  visits  to  cathedrals,  gal- 
leries of  art,  palaces,  ruins,  mountains,  glaciers  and 
ancient  institutions  of  learning.  All  that  is  told  in  guide- 
books and  newspapers  and  has  in  no  way  enlisted  my 
attention  or  my  energies. 

In  this  little  chapter  I  will  throw  together  a  few  inci- 
dents which  it  is  pleasant  for  me  to  recall,  and  from  which 
I  pluck  some  little  satisfaction  in  jotting  them  down  for 
those  who  may  care  to  read  them.  A  lady  member  of  my 
church  insisted  that  I  ought  not  to  go  out  of  this  country, 
and  for  the  very  odd  reason  that  I  never  could  be  happy 
if  I  fell  into  conditions  which  rendered  it  impossible  for 
for  me  to  take  collections.  She  was  quite  outspoken  in 
saying  that  I  wouldn't  stay  out  half  my  time  on  account 
of  homesickness,  produced  by  my  being  deprived  of  the 
ever  congenial  task  of  plucking  money  from  the  pockets 
of  the  people  in  the  interests  of  humanity  and  religion. 
I  sent  back  a  little  letter  to  an  Aonerican  paper,  giving 

222 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    223 

some  incidents  of  the  outgoing  voyage,  in  which  I  men- 
tioned a  peculiarly  interesting  incident.  We  were  for- 
tunate enough  to  encounter  quite  a  formidable  ocean  gale, 
which  added  great  spice,  excitement  and  charm  to  the 
trip. 

Among  the  events  mentioned  in  my  letter  was  the  loss 
of  a  member  of  the  ship's  crew  who  was  a  bridegroom  of 
several  weeks'  standing,  who  had  promised  his  bride  that 
after  one  more  voyage  he  would  quit  the  sea  and  devote 
his  life  to  her  support  and  happiness,  and  who,  in  the 
midst  of  the  storm,  was  blown  from  near  the  top  of  a  mast 
and  sank  into  the  sea  to  be  heard  of  no  more.  I  chanced 
to  mention  that  much  sympathy  was  felt  for  the  bride 
widow,  and  that  by  request  I  took  a  public  collection  for 
her  benefit  and  sent  her  quite  a  snug  and  consoling  purse. 
It  chanced  that  this  gossipy  letter  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  good  woman  of  my  church,  and  she  was  rejoiced  be- 
yond measure.  ''Ah,"  the  good  woman  jubilantly  ex- 
claimed, ' '  that  is  good  news  indeed.  It  was  almost  worth 
having  some  poor  man  drowned  to  give  our  pastor  an  op- 
portunity to  take  a  collection  for  the  surviving  widow." 
I  was  somewhat  fiercely  set  upon  when  I  returned  to 
America,  that  I  had  actually  drowned  a  sailor  in  order 
to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  collection. 

The  friend  who  went  abroad  with  me.  Dr.  L.  R. 
Thornhill,  was  simply  invaluable  in  looking  after  lug- 
gage, schedules,  hotels  and  other  matters  of  comfort,  but 
I  blush  to  say  that  he  suffered  untold  cruelties  at  my 
hands,  although  I  loved  him  ardently  in  my  normal 
moods,  but  when  I  had  an  acute  case  of  travel-tire  I  hated 
him  with  all  possible  abnormal  ferocities.  I  remember 
particularly  that  in  Florence  I  seriously  meditated  an 
open  break  with  him,  and  felt  thoroughly  that  to  break 
his  neck  would  be  a  sweeter  pastime  than  seeing  St. 
Peter^s  or  lounging  in  gondolas  in  Venice.     We  met  a 


224  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

friend  living  in  Italy,  who  expressed  the  utmost  surprise 
that  we  seemed  really  attached  to  each  other,  and  I  asked 
him  if  he  imagined  that  we  elected  to  travel  together  be- 
cause of  strong  mutual  animosities.  It  was  after  this 
I  had  my  travel  tire. 

'• '  Not  at  all, ' '  he  said  with  candid  humor.  ^ '  I  generally 
notice  that  ^Americans  who  set  out  to  travel  together 
usually  fall  out  and  part  before  they  get  to  Italy." 

My  fellow  traveller  had  one  habit  which  to  my  taste 
was  despicable, — he  wore  red  flannel  in  the  summer.  As 
we  had  our  stateroom  together,  and  as  I  have  had  all  my 
life  a  mortal  antagonism  to  red  flannel,  I  requested  him 
either  to  consign  these  crimson  nether  garments  to  a 
watery  grave  or  to  hire  storage  room  in  the  steerage  for 
keeping  his  loathsome  garb.  When  we  were  entering 
Italy  the  custom-house  officer  gravelled  into  our  trunks  to 
see  if  we  were  smugglers  or  any  other  unscrupulous  sort, 
and  found  the  change  of  this  flannel  in  his  valise.  They 
were  horrified.  They  believed  that  he  was  wearing  the 
uniform  of  the  anarchist  and  took  my  friend  in  charge.  I 
confess  frankly  that  I  was  greatly  delighted.  I  was  glad 
they  caught  him,  and  while  I  could  not  say  one  word  in 
Italian,  yet  with  all  dramatic  gesture,  with  many  out- 
breaks of  joy,  I  besought  them  to  take  him  and  execute 
him  as  one  of  the  robbers  of  the  Apenines. 

Honestly  the  desperate  satisfaction  I  felt  in  cherishing 
the  worst  possible  thoughts  and  feelings  against  my  un- 
suspecting victim  was  something  most  entertaining  to  me. 
I  actually  meditated  an  abrupt  and  scornful  break 
with  him,  to  be  varied  with  such  assurances  of  undying 
contempt,  and  this  pleased  me  thoroughly.  Meanwhile 
he  was  as  usual  the  same  that  I  had  been  cherishing  as  a 
friend  for  a  number  of  years,  and  he  was  apparently  in 
no  degree  conscious  of  any  eruptive  antagonisms  existing 
within  my  bosom. 


SHEEDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    225 

Finally  my  feeliDgs  sullenly  walked  out  and  pro- 
claimed a  strike.  I  tumbled  into  a  hopeless  collapse, 
staggered  into  my  hotel,  took  to  my  bed.  My  languor 
bordered  on  dissolution,  and  a  grim  pessimism  enthralled 
my  being.  Finally  sleep,  never  so  blessed  before,  wrapped 
me  in  its  embrace,  and  for  ever  so  many  hours  Florence, 
the  home  of  art,  music  and  culture,  shrank  far  beyond  my 
dreaming.  I  would  blush  to  tell  how  utterly  I  turned 
from  all  the  things  of  earth  that  pleased  me,  and  slept  my 
fatigues  away.  When  finally  I  recovered  consciousness  I 
found  myself  composed,  clear-headed,  grievously  hungry 
and  fully  restored  to  fellowship  with  my  good  friend 
Thornhill. 

I  had  a  friend  of  many  years'  standing,— a  Virginian 
and  withal  a  most  courtly,  literary  and  public-spirited 
gentleman,  Rev,  George  B.  Taylor,  D.  D.,  at  that  time 
superintendent  of  American  Baptist  Missions  in  the 
city  of  Eome.  He  had  heard  of  my  coming,  and  had 
written  me  that  he  would  be  summering  in  the  Apenine 
mountains,  and  that  I  must  join  him  there  for  all  the  time 
that  I  could  spare.  In  subsequent  pages  I  present 
the  account  of  my  adventure,  successful  in  the  end,  of  trying 
to  find  the  dwelling-place  of  this  cherished  friend  of  my 
early  days. 

I  must  say  very  frankly  that  of  all  countries  which  I 
visited,  Scotland  charmed  me  most.  There  is  one  inci- 
dent connected  with  my  brief  sojourn  in  the  land  of  the 
thistle  which  will,  in  part  at  least,  indicate  the  social  ex- 
periences which  came  to  me  while  in  Scotland,  and  which 
I  can  never  recall  without  grateful  emotion. 

When  I  decided  to  take  my  little  spin  across  the  Atlan- 
tic a  friend,  learning  of  my  purpose  to  go,  brought  me 
quite  a  formidable  letter  of  introduction  to  the  late  Mr. 
John  C.  Graham  of  Glasgow,  Scotland,  at  that  time  the 


226  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

president  of  the  Scotch  Convention  of  Baptists.  As  a 
fact,  I  was  not  out  for  multiplying  acquaintances,  and  I 
always  felt  that  I  was  under  suspicion  with  almost  any 
sort  of  an  introduction  in  my  hand,  but  the  gentleman 
who  gave  it  to  me  was  precise,  exacting,  and,  as  I  knew, 
would  have  to  be  reckoned  with  when  I  got  back. 

My  ship  dropped  me  out  at  Glasgow,  and  with  a  some- 
what selfish  sense  of  duty  I  raided  the  premises  of  Mr. 
Graham,  whom  I  had  not  seen  and  who  I  inwardly  feared 
was  in  no  high  mood  to  see  me.  The  charming  sense  of 
a  task  well  performed  pervaded  me  when  I  ascertained 
that  Mr.  Graham  and  his  family  were  summering  on  some 
unknown  shore  of  Scotia,  and  so  I  sailed  off  for  Is"orthern 
Scotland  and  careered  up  and  down  land  and  sea  until  I 
found  myself  packing  my  trunk  in  Loudon  and  getting 
ready  to  set  forth  for  Glasgow,  where  I  was  to  reembark 
for  America.  I  was  sensibly  disgruntled  to  find  the 
solemn  letter  of  my  friend,  which,  after  articulating  my 
supposititious  virtues,  commended  me  to  the  endear- 
ments of  Mr.  Graham. 

Once  more  I  faced  the  question  of  encountering  the 
author  of  the  recommendatory  letter,  and  so  I  slipped 
the  letter  in  my  vest  pocket  and  determined  to  ring  the 
Graham  door-bell  one  more  time.  A  most  gracious  and 
charming  lady  met  me  at  the  door  and  with  the  utmost 
courtesy  directed  me  to  the  office  of  Mr.  Graham.  I 
thought  soberly  that  if  the  Lord  had  been  as  careful  in 
building  the  yet  unseen  Mr.  Graham  as  He  evidently  had 
been  in  the  creation  of  that  engaging  woman,  I  would  be 
glad  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  face  and  form  of  that  mascu- 
line piece  of  His  handiwork. 

It  turned  out  that  Mr.  Graham  was  a  prominent  rail- 
road officer,  and  his  office  was  within  the  precincts  of  the 
Glasgow  station  of  that  road.  To  say  this  would  be  about 
equal  to  undertakiDg  to  find  a  house  in  a  town  of  a  thou- 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    227 

sand  people  without  any  special  direction.  I  was  directed 
this  way,  then  that  way,  then  another  way,  then  around 
somewhere,  then  back  again,  until  I  was  far  more  con- 
cerned as  to  whether  I  would  ever  find  my  way  out  than 
I  was  whether  I  would  find  Mr.  Graham. 

Finally,  I  struck  a  man  in  working  clothes  who  had  a 
heart,  also  a  head.  He  informed  me  that  he  would  take 
me  straight  to  Mr.  Graham's  office.  In  vain  I  fumbled 
in  my  pocket  for  that  letter  which  was  to  give  me  my 
character  and  ambled  along  as  if  going  to  the  slaughter 
pen  or  some  other  place  of  relief.  After  running  me  a 
race  amid  cars,  passages,  stairways  and  short  turns,  he 
jerked  open  a  door  and  said,  ^^Mr.  Graham,  a  gentleman 
wishes  to  see  you,"  and  shot  out,  as  much  as  to  say  that 
his  part  was  done  and  he  was  determined  not  to  witness 
the  meeting.  I  stopped,  '^framed  in  the  door,"  accord- 
ing to  the  tiresome  phrase  of  the  day,  quite  tired  myself. 

A  gentleman,  immense  in  frame  and  with  a  head  colos- 
sal and  in  part  barren  of  its  locks,  threw  up  his  golden- 
rimmed  spectacles  to  the  top  of  his  head,  whirled  sud- 
denly in  his  revolving  chair  towards  me  and  fixed  two 
large  and  truly  magnificent  eyes  upon  me.  His  gaze 
was  keen  enough  to  clip  the  buttons  on  my  clothes  and 
uncover  me  for  inspection,  and  yet  behind  it  there  was 
something  gracious,  as  seen  in  the  distance. 

^'Excuse  me,  Mr.  Graham,"  I  said,  doing  my  best  to 
look  solemn  like  a  Scotchman,  ''let  not  my  presence 
alarm  you.  I  do  not  come  to  ask  for  anything  ;  not  that 
I  have  much,  but  I  am  an  American,  and  I  have  my 
return  ticket  and  enough  to  get  me  on  the  boat.  A 
friend  of  yourself  in  Richmond,  Va.,  was  much  set  on  my 
shaking  your  hand  and  presenting  his  compliments,  and 
to  show  you  that  you  were  not  being  imposed  upon,  gave 
me  a  good  character,  sketched  with  his  own  pen — an 
excellent  letter,  indeed,  which  I  discovered  two  or  three 


228  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

minutes  ago  that  I  had  lost.  As  I  am  here  for  nothing 
on  the  earth  except  to  shake  your  hand,  that  I  may  tell 
Mr.  Samuel  S.  Clopton  that  I  had  seen  you  (truly  an  easy 
thing  to  do  if  you  got  anywhere  in  his  neighborhood)  and 
had  grasped  your  hand  5  if  now,"  I  said  with  ponderous 
dignity,  ^'you  are  willing  to  shake  my  hand,  we  will 
have  the  ceremony  at  once  and  close  the  exercises." 

I  paused  a  full  period's  length  and  some  more  over 
and  yet  he  looked  at  me  so.  I  said  to  him  that  in  the 
event  he  declined  to  have  the  hand-shake,  I  would  not 
take  it  ill ;  that  I  had  lived  that  long  without  shaking 
hands  with  him  and  thought  that  by  hard  pulling  I 
might  make  the  rest  of  the  trip,  even  though  deprived  of 
that  i)rivilege. 

^'I  wish  to  say  to  you,  sir,"  he  said  in  a  tone  that 
fairly  shook  the  shoes  on  my  feet,  ^'I  hardly  find  myself 
in  a  humor  to  shake  your  hand,  sir.  You  have  not 
treated  me  with  that  respect  to  which  I  think  a  friend  of 
Dr.  Clopton' s  is  fairly  entitled.  You  tell  me  that  you 
are  to  take  the  American  steamer  to-morrow  afternoon. 
You  have  so  schemed,  sir,  as  to  make  it  impossible  for 
me  to  give  you  an  adequate  taste  of  old  Scotia's  hospi- 
tality. Where  is  your  luggage,  I  would  like  to  ask, 
sir?" 

^'My  trunk  has  gone  to  the  steamer  and  my  hand 
baggage  is  at  the  Victoria  Hotel,"  I  answered,  much 
amused  and  infinitely  interested  in  the  powerful  person 
before  me. 

*^My  mon  w411  call  for  it  and  you  will  be  in  my  charge 
until  you  set  your  foot  upon  that  ship  for  America." 

I  told  him  with  imperturbable  coolness  that  I  did  not 
doubt  at  all  that  his  mon  was  an  ideal  official  and  would 
do  right  by  my  luggage,  but  that  I  had  a  friend  with  me 
and  I  thought  that  I  would  retain  the  oversight  of  my 
luggage  and  stay  with  my  friend. 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    229 

^  *  No,  sir, ' '  he  said,  * '  you  will  do  no  such  thing,  ex- 
cept that  your  friend  will  stay  with  you  and  both  of  you 
will  stay  at  my  house,  but  i^ractically  nothing  will  be 
done  for  your  entertainment  because  of  your  grievously 
bad  conduct  in  not  reporting  to  me  until  on  the  very  eve 
of  quitting  the  country.  I  will  take  you  to  Hamilton 
Palace  j  I  will  have  some  gentlemen  to  come  in  and  take 
dinner  with  you  to-night  j  I  will  notify  my  pastor  that 
you  will  preach  for  us  to-night,  and  I,  with  my  family, 
will  take  you  down  to  Greenoch  to-morrow  evening  and 
see  you  on  your  steamer.  Poor  treatment,  I  admit,  but 
you  are  to  blame  for  its  not  being  better." 

Altogether,  it  struck  me  that  it  was  the  shrewdest  and 
most  delightful  hit  off  in  the  way  of  hospitality  that  I  had 
met,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  tell  of  the  charms,  the 
humor,  the  merriment,  the  banter  and,  with  all,  the  win- 
some kindnesses  of  that  memorable  visit.  Big  as  he  was, 
he  had  the  heart  of  a  child,  the  soul  of  a.  saint,  the  spirit 
of  the  hero  and  the  grace  of  the  Christian  gentleman. 
Well-nigh  every  hour  of  that  and  the  following  day  was 
packed  with  some  pleasing  device,  some  happy  trip,  some 
rare  sight,  the  unexpected  dropping  in  of  friends  and  the 
homelike,  brimming  attentions  of  the  family.  It  took 
but  a  little  while  to  shatter  every  barrier,  to  thaw  out 
every  restriction  and  to  shake  us  together  in  the  unity  of 
a  good  understanding  and  a  faith  that  knew  no  doubt. 

I  found  in  his  family  a  number  of  children  and  among 
them  a  very  sensible  and  timid  daughter,  an  ideal  Scotch 
maiden,  too  timid  to  be  brave  and  too  brave  to  be  timid 
and  just  right  to  be  both.  Before  the  time  of  my  de- 
parture came  I  extended  a  formal  and  most  cordial 
invitation  to  this  young  woman  to  make  a  visit  to  my 
daughters  in  Richmond,  Va.,  and  the  parental  consent 
was  guardedly  but  finally  given.  Several  months  later 
she  crossed  the  ocean  without  an  acquaintance,  was  met 


230  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

at  the  pier  in  'New  York  and  transferred  to  the  Richmond 
train,  and  before  she  reached  our  station  I  swung  on  to 
the  train  and  all  lingering  anxieties  flew  out  of  the 
window  and  for  three  months  she  was  the  joy  of  our 
house.  Nor  was  that  all.  Those  hard-headed  Scotch 
people  complained  that  they  were  brought  under  obliga- 
tion, and  the  old  gentleman,  acting  as  spokesman,  said 
that  the  account  had  to  be  squared  or  that  we  would  be 
roundly  abused  if  it  was  not  done ;  but  it  was  done. 
Two  years  afterwards  two  members  of  my  family  (so 
unseemly  was  our  eagerness  to  square  the  account),  my 
wife  and  daughter,  ran  over  to  Glasgow  and  gave  the 
Graham  house  all  the  trouble  that  they  could  think  of, 
which,  after  all,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Grahams,  consisted 
in  not  extending  their  visit.  A  thousand  pleasing 
memories  hover  around  183  St.  George  Street. 

Time  has  done  sad  things  with  that  ideal  home. 
Death  has  called  its  honored  head  into  the  invisible 
world,  but  he  went  full  of  honor  and  faith,  and  this  day  I 
do  honor  to  the  memory  of  an  uncommon  man.  His  soul 
was  clean  as  the  sunlight,  his  word  was  as  good  as  the 
King's  seal,  his  home  was  lit  with  virtue,  honor  and 
godliness,  and  his  life  was  an  offering  upon  the  altar, 
acceptable  unto  God. 

Another  pleasing  and  unexpected  episode  marked  my 
excursion  through  Northern  Scotland.  I  found  two  gen- 
tlemen on  the  packet,  neither  of  whose  names  I  could 
recall,  and  yet  the  face  of  each  one  carried  certain  familiar 
features.  One  of  them  was  massive,  thoughtful  and 
quiet ;  the  other,  restive,  busy  with  his  pen  and  con- 
stantly reading  things  or  talking  things  to  his  sober 
companion.  It  vexed  me  greatly  that  I  could  not  keep 
my  eyes  off  of  them,  and  particularly  did  I  find  myself 
eyeing  the  larger  and  more  dignified  of   the  two.    I 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    231 

would  have  been  quite  ashamed  of  my  curiosity  except 
that  every  time  I  flung  my  furtive  glances  at  him,  our 
eyes  met  in  baffled  curiosity. 

By  some  odd  chance  our  impulses  rolled  us  together. 
At  one  time  we  were  almost  in  touch  on  the  upper  deck 
when  a  rain,  one  of  the  inevitable  and  ever-recurring 
rains,  stamj)eded  us  and  we  went  down  in  the  salon  and, 
sure  enough,  we  took  our  seats  facing  each  other  and 
glared  at  one  another  as  if  about  ready  for  mortal  combat. 

^*  Every  time  I  have  looked  at  you  to-day,"  I  said  to 
him  in  a  grim  and  resentful  tone,  ''I  have  found  you 
watching  me  as  with  some  deadly  purpose.'^ 

^*  I  believe,  sir,  that  your  remark  is  substantially  true,'^ 
said  the  portly  and  white-haired  stranger,  ^  *  but  I  do  be- 
lieve I  can  truthfully  say  that  I  have  not  looked  at  you 
one  time  to-day  that  I  did  not  catch  you  looking 
at  me." 

'*I  confess  it,"  I  said,  without  any  break  in  my  lofty 
and  dignified  tone,  '*for  it  is  very  natural  to  watch  the 
man  who  you  find  is  constantly  watching  you  and,  be- 
sides, I  have  a  vague,  almost  a  distinct,  conviction  that 
somewhere  on  terra  firma  I  have  had  a  vision  of  you 
before." 

''  Exactly  so,  my  good  stranger,"  the  man  of  the  whited 
locks  responded.  ' '  I  appreciate  what  you  say  exactly  ; 
that  is  what  is  the  matter  with  me.  I  not  only  suspect 
that  I  have  seen  you,  but  I  am  almost  ready  to  think  that 
I  have  gotten  you  down  to  the  last  dot  of  identity." 

I  told  him  that  probably  both  of  us  were  to  see  that 
each  of  us  was  mistaken  but  that  I  proposed  that  we  take  a 
guess  at  each  other  and,  if  we  missed,  we  would  then  take 
up  the  question  as  to  whether  our  looks  interested  each 
other  enough  to  incline  us  to  reveal  ourselves.  The 
suggestion  was  accordingly  adopted  and  he  told  me  to 
fire  away. 


232  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

^'A.  J.  Gordon  of  Boston,"  said  Ij  ''now  take  your 
trial  on  me." 

''W.  E.  Hatcher,  Eichmond,  Ya.,"  lie  said,  and  I 
bowed  acquiescence. 

I  found  that  his  friend  was  Dr.  A.  T.  Pierson,  that 
they  had  both  been  attending  a  missionary  conference 
in  England  and  were  on  their  way  to  Inverness  to  hold 
missionary  meetings  on  the  following  day,  which  was 
Sanday.  Those  who  travel  know  the  delight  of  picking 
up  genial  and  resourceful  companionship  along  the  way, 
and  who  could  find  a  nobler  spirit  than  Dr.  Gordon? 
He  and  his  friend  gave  me  a  memorably  rich  and 
stimulating  Sabbath  at  Inverness. 

The  story  which  follows  reveals  the  ups  and  downs  of 
two  awkward  and  inexperienced  tourists,  but  it  has  to 
be  reluctantly  admitted  that  the  peril  of  the  night  was 
hardly  sufficient  to  add  spice  to  the  adventure.  The 
story  is  in  reality  a  memorial  of  Dr.  George  B.  Taylor,  a 
chieftain  among  my  friends. 

At  midnight  on  a  Saturday  night,  in  the  month  of 
September,  I  tumbled,  sick  and  black  with  dirt,  into  a 
hotel  in  the  city  of  Pisa,  Italy.  My  sickness  was  dis- 
tinctly traceable  to  a  slice  of  Bologna  sausage  picked  up 
at  Genoa,  and  my  blackness  was  fairly  won  by  travelling 
eighty  miles  in  the  tunnels  of  that  railway  which  skirts 
the  Mediterranean  shore  between  Genoa  and  Pisa.  Being 
thus  out  of  kelter  both  outside  and  in,  I  took  the  last 
half  of  the  night  to  adjust  myself  to  better  conditions  and 
to  hammer  myself  into  shape  for  the  Sabbath.  For  lack 
of  something  better,  I  took  that  blessed  day  to  study  the 
Leaning  Tower,  the  historic  clock  and  the  mendicant 
gang  which  huddled  about  the  doors  of  the  cathedral.  It 
was  an  empty  and  dismal  day  and  my  soul  cried  out  for 
fellowship,  and  in  my  extremity  I  told  my  companion  of 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    233 

the  journey  that  I  thought  the  most  religious  thing 
that  I  could  think  of,  as  possible  on  that  day,  was  to  enter 
the  Apenines  and  find  Dr.  George  B.  Taylor.  This 
gentleman  was  rare  and  notable  among  the  sons  of  men. 
We  had  grown  a  friendship  in  America  in  our  callow 
days  which  not  many  years  of  separation  had  in  any  sense 
abated.  Already  for  more  than  a  score  of  years  Dr. 
Taylor  had  been  tbe  official  head  of  missionary  work 
in  Italy  as  conducted  by  my  denomination  in  the  southern 
part  of  the  American  Republic.  He  had  heard  of  my 
coming  and  had  written  me  that  he  was  summering  in  a 
little  town,  Cutialano.  That  was  a  perilously  inadequate 
directory  for  leading  an  untravelled  American  to  the 
designated  point.  Nevertheless  we  set  forth  and  after 
many  mishaps,  a  change  of  railroads  which  was  made  in 
an  unknown  tongue,  and  an  unavailing  search  for  a  few 
drops  of  water  to  quench  the  most  deadly  thirst  that  I  at 
least  had  ever  known,  we  heard  the  flagman  cry  out 
something  which  sounded  faintly  like  Pracchia.  We 
alighted  from  the  train.  It  was  about  half-way  between 
sundown  and  the  darkness  of  the  night.  The  place— if  in- 
deed it  was  a  place,  squatted  its  shabby  houses  amid 
the  mountain  crags,  and  proved  to  be,  by  all  odds, 
the  most  filthy  and  abhorrent  locality  that  my  eyes 
had  ever  looked  upon.  There  was  a  four-roomed,  dirty 
structure  pointed  out  as  the  hotel,  and  it  was  seething 
with  about  as  pestiferous  a  mob  of  human  filth  as  the 
earth  could  afford.  Besides,  the  station  was  infested  with 
a  noisy  brood  of  loiterers  snatching  at  our  baggage,  in- 
sisting on  seizing  us  and  carrying  us  whithersoever  they 
would,  and  making  the  mountains  hideous  with  their 
malevolent  noises.  We  were  told  that  there  was  no  hope 
of  our  getting  supper  or  bed,  whereupon  I  held  a  thanks- 
giving service  with  myself  right  on  the  spot.  We  two 
knew  not  a  word  of  Italian  and  our  speech  attracted  not  one 


234  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

who  could  speak  English.  Finally  I  stumbled  upon  a 
cabman — a  huge,  fiery-faced,  and  half  drunken  fellow 
whose  bearing  set  us  against  him  at  once,  and  all  the 
more  so  as  the  cab  bore  many  marks  of  hard  usage  and 
creaking  infirmities,  and  as  the  horse,  shrivelled,  dejected, 
and  with  ribs  bespeaking  a  starving  rate  of  living,  seemed 
nigh  to  his  end.  I  shrieked,  "  Cutialano  !  "  until  finally 
and  besottedly  he  responded,  ^'Cutialano."  A  little 
proud  of  my  ingenuity,  I  held  up  my  ten  fingers  and 
said,  ''lyras,"  which  in  a  Christian  country  would  have 
meant  that  we  would  give  him  two  dollars  to  take  us  to 
Cutialano.  He  shook  his  head  negatively.  Then  I  put 
up  my  hands  again  with  ten  fingers,  and  suddenly  lower- 
ing my  fingers  and  leaving  my  thumbs  erect,  I  gave  him 
to  understand  that  we  would  make  it  twelve  lyras,  and 
that  brought  a  smile  and  a  friendly  grunt  which  closed 
the  bargain.  It  was  then  night  and  the  distance  fifteen 
miles  and  the  route  up  mountains,  over  and  down  moun- 
tains, through  deep  valleys,  along  splashing  streams  and 
ofttimes  beneath  or  over  hanging  rocks  or  between 
boulders  on  the  one  side,  and  precipices  on  the  other. 
In  our  favor  was  very  brilliant  moonlight,  excellent 
roads  and  groups  of  people  strolling  the  narrow  ways  as 
we  went  along.  My  friend  who  was  with  me  had  read 
books  about  the  mountain  bandits  of  Italy,  their  robber- 
ies and  their  murderings,  and  his  imagination  gave  him 
much  trouble  and  at  times  his  vivid  pictures  of  our 
dangers  made  me  think  of  the  awful  inconvenience  and 
the  serious  detentions  that  would  result  if,  instigated  by  a 
belief  in  our  great  wealth,  a  robber  band  should  fall  afoul 
of  us  and  do  us  their  usual  way.  At  one  point  in  the 
road  where  the  moon  could  not  get  in  its  friendly  work, 
our  driver  sprang  from  his  seat  and  blended  himself  into 
the  general  darkness,  and  for  quite  a  while  we  could  hear 
men  talking  in  solemn  and  measured  tones  and  this  went 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    235 

ou  a  good  while.  It  reminded  my  friend  of  more  robber 
literature  which  he  had  read  and  prompted  me  to  sing  a 
song,  which,  if  it  did  not  bubble  out  of  a  cheerful  soul, 
was  intended  to  make  that  impression  upon  the  low- 
voiced  sons  of  darkness  who  seemed  to  be  planning  for  an 
inquest  over  our  remains  after  they  had  taken  everything 
else  that  they  were  not  willing  to  have  remain.  Pres- 
ently two  men  appeared  leading  a  horse,  and  in  the  most 
businesslike  way,  began  to  hitch  him  in  tandem  style  in 
front  of  our  equine  dwarf  which  had  brought  us  thus  far. 
It  turned  out  that  we  were  about  to  ascend  a  fearful  hill 
and  this  extra  force  was  brought  in  to  meet  the  emergency. 
Both  men  rode  on  the  driver's  seat,  and  the  new  man 
proved  to  be  quite  loquacious,  emphasizing  his  utterances 
with  fierce  gesticulation  ;  not  one  word  of  all  he  said  could 
we  understand,  but  I  had  already  learned  that  when  cab- 
men or  guides  grew  garrulous  in  a  language  which  we 
knew  not,  their  conversation  had  something  to  do  with 
money.  But  in  this  case  I  decided  to  let  the  ^performance 
continue  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Suddenly,  however,  we 
were  stopped  and  the  man  turned  squarely  around  on  us 
and  making  as  well  as  he  could  a  beer  or  wine  mug  of 
his  hand  he  applied  it  to  his  lips.  That  was  a  language 
which  we  readily  understood  and  we  decided  that  it  meant 
that  he  expected  a  treat  at  our  hands  for  hauling  us  up 
the  steep.  I  told  my  friend  that  ordinarily  my  principles 
utterly  forbade  my  treating  men  to  liquid  intoxicants, 
especially  on  Sunday  night,  and  asked  him  if  he  did  not 
think  it  would  be  a  good  time  for  him  to  repeat  one  of 
his  able  temperance  addresses  for  these  two  weak  Italian 
brethren.  This  proposition  failed  and  we  decided  that 
in  view  of  the  valuable  aid  that  this  cabman  had  rendered 
us  we  would  take  up  a  small  collection  in  his  interest, 
and  that  inasmuch  as  we  could  not  get  off  the  lecture  we 
would  leave  it  to  the  driver^ s  honor— provided  he  owned 


236  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

any  article  of  that  sort,  not  to  spend  the  money  in  an  im- 
proper way. 

After  descending  that  mountain  we  came  to  what  we 
took  to  be  a  summer  boarding-house.  It  was  quite  an 
extensive  and  handsome  building,  and  a  number  of  good 
looking  women  with  a  decided  business  look  attached  to 
them  came  out,  and  very  voluminously  entreated  us  to  do 
something,  but  what  we  could  not  understand.  I  thought 
at  that  moment  of  the  glory  of  the  old  Latin  tongue,  of 
my  joy  in  its  study,  of  my  passionate  enthusiasm  over 
Ovid,  Caesar,  Yirgil,  Juvenile,  Cicero,  and  some  besides. 
Then  as  I  sat  there  pelted,  jagged,  slashed  up  on  that  fair 
moonlight  night  with  such  lingual  jargon,  and  with  such 
maddening  effect,  I  felt  that  my  religion  was  slashed  into 
tatters  and  in  sore  need  of  repair.  But  even  at  that 
desperate  moment  I  still  believed  that  if  I  could  get  to 
my  friend  of  friends,  Dr.  Taylor,  his  godly  humor  and 
his  heavenly  philosophy  could  save  even  me.  So  that 
while  the  Italian  women  were  clamoring  for  me  to  get  out 
and  spend  the  night,  and  while  the  cabman  of  the  glaring 
face  stood  at  the  open  door  of  the  cab,  and  by  threaten- 
ing gestures  ordered  me  to  get  out,  I  simply  sat  still  and 
filled  in  the  silent  spaces  with  the  emphatic  cry, 
*•  Cutialano  !  "  ^ '  Cutialano  ! "  And  in  the  course  of 
time  I  subdued  the  hospitable  mob.  They  finally  held  a 
council  of  war  or  something  else  and  the  cabman  came 
back  with  new  crimson  shades  on  his  cheeks  and  deluged 
me  with  unintelligible  abuse — so  at  least  I  thought  he  did — 
and  then — well,  then  I  piped  out  with  unruffled  composure, 
^*  Cu-ti-a-lano  !  '^  The  man  sprang  upon  his  seat  and 
such  a  cruel  scourging  he  inflicted  upon  his  little  horse 
that  it  made  my  blood  boil,  but  it  being  Sunday,  I  for- 
bore to  thrash  the  wretch  as  he  deserved,  and  as  I  was 
much  inclined  to  do,  if  all  the  external  conditions  had 
been  safe  and  favorable  for  such  a  task. 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    237 

As  we  went  sweeping  along  we  overtook  a  carriage,  and 
our  driver,  after  some  chat  with  the  man  ahead,  leaped 
out,  threw  open  the  cab  door,  and  in  a  very  curt  way  or- 
dered us  to  get  out.  In  some  way  we  were  made  to  un- 
derstand that  the  other  conveyance  would  take  us  to 
Cutialauo.  No  tears  were  shed  in  parting  with  the  cab- 
man of  the  fiery  cheeks  and  the  grating  voice. 

Finally  our  new  charioteer  sang  out  very  assuringly  : 
^ '■Cutialauo.^''  Far  up  on  the  open  mountainside  we 
glimpsed  the  twinkling  lights  which  served  to  tell  us  that 
the  end  of  our  journey  was  at  hand,  and  that  my  noble  Dr. 
Taylor  was  in  easy  reach.  The  climb  of  that  hill,  no 
small  attainment  in  itself,  brought  us  to  an  open  square  in 
which  all  the  town  seemed  to  have  emptied  itself.  Sure 
enough,  it  was  a  giddy,  boisterous  throng,  and  they 
swarmed  around  us  with  embarrassing  familiarity,  each 
vying  with  the  rest  in  taking  charge  of  us  for  commercial 
purposes.  In  time  I  made  them  understand  that  I  was  an 
American,  and  instantly  scores  of  voices  were  shouting, 
'"Merikee  !  'Merikee  !  'Merikee  ! "  which  meant  that  they 
were  looking  for  some  one  who  could  talk  to  us.  They 
found  a  lad  who  must  have  claimed  that  he  could  speak 
English,  for  they  brought  him  forward  with  noisy  delight. 
He  proved  entirely  inadequate  to  the  occasion,  for  he  could 
not  speak  any  English  word  intelligently.  After  much 
perplexity  I  called  out,  ''  Dr.  Taylor,^'  putting  great  em- 
phasis on  the  last  syllable  in  each  word.  The  crowd 
caught  the  word  instantly,  and  the  whole  park  rang  with  a 
continuous  cry  of  ''Dr.  Taylor,"  while  many  who  looked 
upon  us  as  fair  game  for  their  commercial  tricks  hung 
around  us  hoping  to  be  called  into  service.  There  stood 
near  the  carriage,  distinctly  visible  under  the  radiant 
beams  of  the  moon,  a  man  plain  of  dress  and  sober  of 
mien,  who  took  no  part  in  the  restless  excitements  of  the 
scene.     It  was  not  hard  to  make  him  understand  that  I 


238  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

wished  liim  to  take  me  to  Dr.  Taj^lor's  house,  which 
he  did  in  an  orderly  and  prompt  manner.  When  we 
reached  the  gate  he  pointed  to  the  house  with  the  simple 
utterance:  ''Dr.  Taylor."  In  every  fibre  of  my  being 
I  was  tremulous  with  a  j  oy  unspeakable.  The  man  struck 
the  door,  and  instantly  movements  on  the  inside  of  the 
house  assured  us  that  the  inmates  were  up  and  awake. 
Very  quickly  the  door  opened,  and  I  caught  the  outline 
of  two  young  ladies,  but  they  had  outgrown  me,  and  I 
was  about  to  begin  the  task  of  introducing  my  friend  and 
myself,  when  the  face  of  Dr.  Taylor — that  dear,  open,  in- 
tellectual, winsome,  classic  face  upon  which  I  had  often 
looked,  and  from  which  I  had  plucked  comfort  and  light 
many,  many  times,  came  in  plain  view  in  the  entry. 
The  joy  of  that  moment  was  great  indeed,  after  our  long 
separation,  and  after  the  nocturnal  journey  with  its  strain- 
ing experiences.  I  was  simply  entranced  with  the  sight 
of  that  countenance.  As  the  full  light  from  the  lamp  fell 
upon  my  face  he  recognized  me  instantly,  and  with  open 
arms  and  with  eyes  suddenly  dimmed  with  tears,  took 
me  to  his  heart  as  he  exclaimed  :  ''  Oh,  Brother  William, 
I  have  waited  for  you  so  long,  and  longed  for  you  so 
much  !  I  feel  you  bring  with  you  my  kindred  and  my 
country!"  But  enough!  I  grow  too  sentimental.  I 
must  call  off  my  iDen.  The  happiness  of  the  days  which 
followed  would  be  to  others  nothing  if  told  to  them,  but 
it  is  all  the  more  to  my  old  heart,  if  it  may  remain  untold. 
Dr.  Taylor  pointed  out  the  hiding-place  of  Cataline, 
the  arch  conspirator  of  his  day.  Those  grim  crags  of  the 
Apenines  furnished  him  a  retreat  so  far  from  the  public 
eye  that  he  could  do  his  deadly  work  without  serious 
dread  of  being  overtaken.  The  doctor  knew  so  much 
about  the  traitor,  and  made  the  story  so  vivid,  that  I  had 
a  weird  dread  that  the  spirit  of  the  deceased  conspirator 
still  wandered  through  those  solitary  haunts,  and  was 


SHREDS  OF  A  TRANSATLANTIC  OUTING    239 

liable  to  mistake  me  for  a  messenger  of  vengeance,  and  to 
do  me  up  beyond  repair  before  I  knew  what  was  going 
on.  But  my  imagination  has  always  had  a  super- 
stitious attachment,  and  my  best  friends  have  charged  me 
with  having  a  constitutional  horror  of  the  unconfined 
ghosts  of  the  wicked,  but  it  is  a  simple  act  of  justice  to  Mr. 
Cataline  to  say  that  neither  he  nor  any  of  his  remains  in- 
terfered with  my  liberty  or  pleasure  during  my  happy 
sojourn  in  the  Apeuines. 

I  put  that  stay  with  Dr.  Taylor  as  among  the  most 
unique,  memorable,  and  in  many  respects,  the  most  de- 
lightful of  all  the  experiences  of  my  foreign  travel  which, 
while  if  not  very  extensive,  was  rich  in  incidents  and 
surprises. 

It  may  be  allowable  to  add  another  bit  of  ex- 
perience which  occurred  with  me  on  my  arrival  in  the 
city  of  Rome.  I  reached  there  on  a  train  at  the  unsenti- 
mental hour  of  seven  in  the  morning.  The  train  emptied 
its  throngs  of  passengers  on  the  platform  and  I,  unwashed 
and  out  of  kelter,  went  shambling  down  the  walkway. 
Above  all  the  clatter  and  confusion  of  the  moment,  I  heard 
a  voice,  solemn  as  the  tomb,  repeating  something  in  a  way 
so  dismal  and  sepulchral,  that  it  brought  me  to  a  shiver. 
It  continued  its  fearful  cry  until  I  distinguished,  partially 
at  first,  but  distinctly  enough  after  a  while,  that  the  bur- 
den of  the  croaker  was,  ''Dr.  Hatcher, "  and  it  was  re- 
peated with  every  other  breath,  and  with  an  ever-increas- 
ing and  accusing  solemnity.  Oh,  my  country  and  my 
kindred,  what  could  it  mean  ?  AVas  the  avenger  after  me  ? 
It  looked  so,  for  the  cry  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  until  I 
found  myself  confronted  by  a  very  respectable  looking 
man,  the  very  man  who  was  taking  all  of  those  unearthly 
liberties  with  my  name.  He  advanced  on  me  quite  ag- 
gressively and  said,  "You!  you,  are  yon,  are  you,  Dr. 
Hatcher  1"     I  admitted  rather  regretfully  that  I  was 


240  ALONG  THE  TKAIL 

something  of  the  sort  lie  was  talking  about,  and  awaited 
developments.  His  face  suddenly  lit  with  friendly  light, 
and  he  told  me  that  he  was  Eev.  Dr.  Paschetto,  the  pastor 
of  the  Baptist  church  in  that  city,  and  that  Dr.  Taylor 
had  asked  him  to  meet  me  at  the  station,  though  the 
doctor  had  said  nothing  to  me  about  it.  I  asked  him  how 
he  identified  me,  and  he  replied  that  he  picked  out  the 
man  who  had  the  tallest  hat,  supposing  that  in  that  way 
he  would  find  the  man  whose  name  was  Satcher.  It  was 
my  beaver  which  betrayed  me.  The  noble  kindnesses  of 
that  worthy  gentleman  are  beyond  forgetting. 


XVI 

GLAD  DAYS  WITH  SPURGEON 

IT  was  when  I  was  a  college  student  at  Eiclimond, 
Va.,  that  I  first  saw  the  name  of  Spurgeon,  and  I 
was  struck  with  the  fact  that  although  he  was  fast 
attaining  a  world-wide  fame  as  a  preacher  he  was  only- 
five  weeks  older  than  I  was.  He  excited  intensely  my 
admiration  and  there  sprang  up  in  me  a  desire  to  see 
him,  which,  however,  it  took  a  third  of  a  century  for  me  to 
realize.  It  was  no  mean  part  of  my  eagerness  for  a  little 
run  beyond  the  sea  that  I  might  hear  this  man,  now  in 
the  zenith  of  his  glory,  and  a  figure  of  far-reaching 
renown.  At  that  time  there  was  quite  a  sharp  con- 
troversy within  the  Baptist  family  of  England,  known 
as  the  Down  Grade  Movement  and  in  which  Mr.  Spurgeon 
was  deeply  involved.  There  may  have  been  some  pre- 
vision on  my  part  in  arranging  with  the  New  York 
Examiner  to  write  up  that  controversy,  as  in  that  way  I 
might  get  closer  to  Spurgeon,  though  I  cannot  recall  that 
I  was  sensibly  influenced  by  that  consideration.  A 
warm  personal  friend  of  mine  in  New  York  and  also  Mr. 
Spurgeon' 8  literary  representative  in  this  country,  with- 
out my  knowledge,  sent  a  letter  to  Mr.  Spurgeon, 
announcing  my  coming  and  also  telling  him  of  my 
arrangement  with  the  Examiner.  On  the  first  Sunday 
that  I  was  in  London  I  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Spurgeon 
and  he  indicated  at  once  that  he  was  informed  as  to  my 
presence  in  that  city.  With  characteristic  hospitality  he 
invited  me  to  spend  the  following  Saturday  at  his  home, 
an  honor  which  I  accepted  with  genuine  pleasure.     He 

241 


24:2  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

added  to  my  obligations  by  authorizing  me  to  invite  twN, 
of  my  American  friends  to  accompany  me, — Eev.  Dr. 
Henry  McDonald  of  Georgia,  and  Eev.  L.  R.  Tliornhill 
of  Virginia. 

That  day  can  never  be  forgotten  and  is  cherished  all 
the  more  gratefully  because  it  opened  the  way  for  many 
happy  and  intimate  associations  with  this  eminent  min- 
ister of  God  afterwards. 

It  was  at  the  stroke  of  one  when  we  rang  the  belL 
The  door  was  opened  by  the  butler  and  we  asked  if  Mr. 
Spurgeon  was  at  home. 

^'Yes,"  Mr.  Spurgeon  himself  replied,  quite  far  back 
in  the  hall,  though  approaching.  ^'I  am  at  home  and 
you  command  my  respect  at  the  outset  by  showing  your 
respect  for  time.  Many  of  those  who  come  to  this  house 
seem  to  live  in  eternity  and  have  no  need  of  clocks  j  but 
I,  a  common  mortal,  live  in  time  and  find  every  moment 
of  it  too  precious  to  waste.'' 

I  noticed  that  he  had  on  a  well-worn  slouch  hat,  and  a 
gray  alpaca  duster  which  nearly  touched  the  floor.  His 
greeting  was  as  informal  as  you  would  likely  receive 
from  a  warm-hearted  American  farmer,  and  soon  we  were 
involved  in  a  conversation  informal  but  easily  sustained. 
Mr.  Spurgeon  took  an  eager  part  in  this,  but  also  with 
silent  courtesy  divided  time  with  the  rest  of  us.  He 
handed  cigars  and  those  who  took  them  smoked  except 
myself,  I  taking  one  and  toying  with  it  but  not  smoking. 
The  Down  Grade  Movement  came  in  for  extended  dis- 
cussion, which  revealed  the  fact  that  Mr.  Spurgeon  was 
feeling  keenly  the  strain  of  it,  and  yet  his  bearing  was 
lofty  and  magnanimous  to  a  degree.  He  said  that  he 
honored  a  candid  opponent  and  found  unspeakable  sup- 
port in  friends  who  were  decided  and  trustworthy,  but 
that  to  him  the  heaviest  strain  of  his  life  was  to  endure 
those  who  were  on  both  sides  of  the  conflict.     The  nearest 


GLAD  DAYS  WITH  SPURGEON  243 

that  Le  ever  came  in  my  hearing  to  bitterness  was  wlien 
he  uttered  a  philippic  against  ingratitude.  He  said  that 
he  asked  no  man  to  bend  to  him  because  he  did  him  a 
kindness,  but  that  he  was  too  human  to  bear  patiently  the 
secret  thrusts  of  those  who  before  had  asked  his  confi- 
dence and  feasted  on  his  bounty. 

"Why,"  he  said  with  kindling  resentment,  "a 
preacher  lost  all  of  his  teeth  and  with  it  his  power  of 
articulation,  and  in  my  sympathy  I  gave  him  a  full  set  of 
artificial  teeth  and  he  turned  around  and  bit  me  with 
them." 

I  confess  there  was  something  admirable  in  the  high 
note  of  indignation  and  resentment  with  which  he  uttered 
his  contempt  for  the  ingrate.  Not  long  after  this  I  left 
London  and  was  gone  quite  a  while.  In  the  early  autumn 
I  returned  for  a  stay  of  several  weeks  and  during  that 
time  I  was  many  times  in  his  company  and  had  the 
amplest  opportunities  of  contact  and  comradeship  with 
him.  He  appointed  a  day  which  the  students  of  his 
college  were  to  spend  with  him,  and  invited  me  to  join 
the  party,  a  pleasure  which  I  ardently  anticipated.  A 
pitiless  rain  drenched  the  grounds  and  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  entertain  the  boys.  Soon  after  he  wrote  me  a 
note  saying  that  he  had  to  go  down  to  Leightonstone  to 
the  reopening  of  the  church  in  which  that  noted  pioneer 
of  the  far  back  days,  Elder  Bradford,  preached,  and  he  in- 
vited me  to  accompany  him  as  his  guest.  We  were  quite 
magnificently  entertained  by  a  distinguished  London 
author.  The  service  occurred  in  the  afternoon  and  Mr. 
Spurgeon  preached  the  same  sermon  which  I  heard  him 
deliver  in  his  tabernacle  on  the  previous  Sunday  evening. 
After  the  service  we  went  for  a  season  into  the  pastor's 
office  and  while  there  I  saw  Spurgeon  in  a  new  role.  A 
weary-eyed  and  somewhat  ill-dressed  man  sprang  into  the 
room  unbidden  and  said  with  great  excitement : 


244  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

^'  Mr.  Spurgeon,  God  has  given  me  a  vision  j  He  showed 
me  an  open  door  and  told  me  that  that  door  was  the  door 
to  your  college  and  He  told  me  I  must  go  through  that 
door  and  get  in  your  school  and  get  ready  to  be  a  great 
preacher." 

''Very  well,  my  man,' ^  said  Spurgeon  good-naturedly 
but  with  a  dangerous  accent.  "Did  you  say  the  Lord 
showed  you  all  that?'^ 

"Yes,  sir,'^  the  man  replied.  "He  showed  me  all 
that." 

"Then  let  me  tell  you,"  Spurgeon  continued,  "as 
soon  as  He  shows  it  to  me  I'll  send  for  you." 

There  was  a  certain  snap  and  bang  in  the  closing  part 
of  that  sentence  which  disturbed  the  air,  and  the  man  as 
if  terrified  dashed  out  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come  in. 

There  was  a  gentleman  living  possibly  a  dozen  miles 
from  Leightonstone,  at  a  little  town  called  Louton,  whose 
name  was  Gould.  He  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Spurgeon  in 
the  opening  days  of  his  ministry  and  it  was  through  him 
that  Mr.  Spurgeon  was  first  called  to  London.  They 
were  fast  friends,  and  the  admiration  and  devotion  which 
the  old  gentleman  had  for  this  peerless  metropolitan 
preacher  seemed  close  akin  to  worship.  He  came  up  to 
the  dedication  in  his  magnificent  carriage  to  take  Mr. 
Spurgeon  and  myself  to  his  home  to  spend  the  night. 
The  rain  was  falling  in  a  flood  and  the  air  was  heavy  and 
cold,  and  it  was  quite  a  ride  that  we  had.  As  we  went 
along,  Mr.  Spurgeon  mentioned  that  he  had  a  sick  mem- 
ber of  his  church  somewhere  near  the  road  which  we  were 
travelling  and  he  was  anxious  to  call  on  him.  Mr.  Gould 
said  it  was  out  of  the  question.  Mr.  Spurgeon  said  that 
the  man  was  very  ill  and  that  he  feared  that  if  he  did  not 
see  him  then,  he  never  would.  Mr.  Gould  still  refused. 
Mr.  Spurgeon  said  that  he  had  promised  to  call  on  the 
man  and  he  hated  to  break  his  promise,  but  Mr.  Gould 


GLAD  DAYS  WITH  SPUEGEON    245 

stiffly  maintained  his  ground  and  said  it  would  be  cruel 
on  the  horses.  Spurgeon  had  something  to  say  as  to 
whether  a  Christian  man  was  worth  less  than  two  horses, 
or  something  of  that  sort.  Mr.  Gould  said  the  driver 
was  a  man  and  that  mercy  ought  to  be  shown  to  him ; 
whereupon  Mr.  Spurgeon  opened  the  door,  stated  the 
case  to  the  driver  and  asked  him  if  he  would  be  willing 
to  take  him  to  the  place. 

*'Lord,  Mr.  Spurgeon,"  said  the  man,  ^^rdbewillin' 
ter  drive  yer  anywhere,  sir." 

"All  right,  John,  drive  ahead  ;  we  will  go." 

Mr.  Gould  was  defeated  and  manifestly  enjoyed  it. 
As  for  myself,  I  looked  at  Spurgeon  and  realized  on  the 
spot  that  it  was  his  indomitable  spirit,  his  bull-headed 
but  heaven- born  determination  that  had  made  him  the 
most  eminent  preacher  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Faith- 
fulness in  that  which  was  least  had  made  him  triumphant 
in  that  which  was  great. 

Mr.  Gould  had  quite  an  ample  and,  indeed,  elegant 
home.  He  invited  also  a  number  of  his  prominent 
neighbors  to  take  dinner  with  Mr.  Spurgeon, — a  dinner 
which  commenced  about  ten,  and  ended  about  midnight. 
The  parlors  were  well  filled,  and,  although  not  well,  Mr. 
Spurgeon  bore  himself  superbly,  mingling  with  the  peo- 
ple, joining  in  cordial  fashion  in  the  chat,  and  now  and 
then,  with  an  admiring  group  around  him,  he  talked 
gloriously,  mixing  seriousness  and  humor,  telling  a  story, 
cracking  a  jest,  stirring  everybody  to  joyous  laughter 
and  filling  his  listeners  with  admiration  and  delight. 
During  the  evening  Mr.  Gould,  with  great  deference  and 
modesty,  requested  Mr.  Spurgeon  to  repeat  a  story  which 
he  had  heard  him  tell  before.  Spurgeon  was  most  reluc- 
tant, and  sought  to  escape  the  appeal,  but  the  company 
joined  in  and  pressed  him  so  hard,  that  he  finally  said 
that  if  I  would  tell  a  story  he  would  come  to  terms. 


246  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

I  refused  outright  aud  told  him  to  fight  his  owu  battle ; 
and  theu  the  comx^auy,  iu  order  to  carry  their  point  with 
Mr.  SpurgeoD,  joined  in  upon  me. 

''Have  you  nothing  to  tell?"  inquired  Mr.  Spurgeon. 

"Yes,  I  have  things  to  tell,"  I  said  quite  flatly,  "but 
this  is  not  my  time.  I  am  only  a  voice  crying  in  the 
vrilderness,  and  ought  not  to  be  used  in  order  to  make 
Mr.  Spurgeon  do  his  duty." 

Finallj^,  however,  the  stubborn  Britons  forced  me  to  sur- 
render and  I  told  the  story  of  "  Miss  Sally  and  the  Gray 
Mare,"  probably  influenced  in  part  by  a  very  human  de- 
sire to  drive  Mr.  Spurgeon  into  a  corner.  He  told  his 
story  well  and  greatly  amused  his  little  audience.  In- 
deed, he  knew  how  to  tell  a  story.  He  could  train  it  to 
the  point  and  explode  it  at  the  fateful  moment.  I  was 
low-spirited  about  my  story  and  doubted  whether  I  had 
reached  that  mysterious  point  in  an  Englishman's  make-up 
where  the  sense  of  humor  dwells,  though  I  must  candidly 
say  they  were  amply  demonstrative. 

The  next  Sunday  I  dined  with  Mr.  Spurgeon  in  the 
home  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  families  of  his 
tabernacle,  and  after  dinner  he  said  to  me  : 

"Tell  them  the  story  of  'Miss  Sally  and  the  Gray 
Mare,'  "  but  I  told  him  that  the  story  was  very  worldly- 
minded  and  not  suitable  for  Sunday  use.  He  said  there  was 
ever  so  much  good  doctrine  in  the  story  and  good  for  seven 
days  in  the  week,  and  so  I  had  to  tell  it  again.  Later 
on,  if  the  reader  travels  that  far,  he  may  find  the  story  of 
"  Miss  Sally  and  the  Gray  Mare,"  which  won  its  place  in 
this  volume  because  Mr.  Spurgeon  approved  of  it. 

It  was  a  great  dinner  spread  that  night  in  the  Gould 
mansion,  and  it  would  be  pleasant  indeed  to  enlarge 
upon  the  social  abandon  and  exuberant  freedom  of  the 
dinner-party. 

When  the  lady  of  the  house  asked  Mr.  Spurgeon  if  he 


GLAD  DAYS  WITH  SPUP.GEON  247 

would  have  coffee,  he  answered  that  he  would,  but  that 
it  must  be  without  sugar.  As  my  seat  was  near  to  his,  I 
noticed  that  when  the  coffee  was  set  before  him,  he  took 
out  a  little  round  paper  box,  opened  it,  took  up  a  small 
tablet  and  pinched  the  tiniest  piece  off  and  dropped  it 
into  the  coffee.  My  curiosity  took  up  the  subject  and 
asked  for  light.  He  said  that  it  was  saccharin  ;  that  it 
took  350  pounds  of  sugar  to  make  one  pound  of  saccha- 
rin and  that  he  used  it  because  the  sugar  itself  aggra- 
vated his  rheumatic  gout,  from  which,  as  is  generally 
known,  he  was  an  almost  constant  sufferer.  Indeed,  he 
told  me  that  he  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  have  a 
moment  entirely  free  from  pain,  and  said  that  it  had  been 
that  way  for  a  full  score  of  years.  Think  of  it.  It  was 
under  all  that  debility  and  acute  suffering  that  he  did  the 
most  valuable  part  of  his  work  as  a  student,  a  preacher, 
an  author,  a  lecturer  and  a  man  of  the  people. 

When  the  guests  rose  from  the  table  it  was  past  mid- 
night and  they  went  at  once  for  their  wraps ;  their  car- 
riages lined  up  at  the  front  and  in  a  few  moments  only 
the  Goulds  and  Mr.  Spurgeon  and  myself  were  left. 
Almost  immediately  Mr.  Gould  brought  out  the  cigars 
and  handed  them  to  Mr.  Spurgeon. 

''No,"  said  Mr.  Spurgeon,  doggedly,  ''  Iwill  not  smoke. 
This  American  here,"  pointing  at  me,  *'was  over  at  my 
house  last  summer  and  I  offered  him  a  cigar.  He  took  it 
but  was  too  good  to  smoke  it,  and  I  am  afraid  that 
such  a  man  as  I  am  ought  not  to  smoke  in  his 
presence." 

I  gave  forth  no  sign  and  the  cigars  were  taken  away 
and  we  began  to  rekindle  the  conversation  when  Mr. 
Gould,  bethinking  himself,  brought  the  cigars  and  offered 
them  to  me.  I  thanked  him  quietly,  took  the  cigar,  lit 
it,  turned  my  back  to  Mr.  Spurgeon  and  began  to  smoke, 
for  the  first  time  in  full  ten  years.     The  clouds  of  smoke 


248  ALONG  THE  TEAIL 

were  visible  in  the  room  but  almost  absolute  silence 
reigned. 

^'Mr.  Gould, '^  said  Spurgeon,  in  a  grimly  humorous 
tone,  ^' bring  that  box  of  cigars  back.  This  is  a  better 
man  than  I  took  him  to  be  and  I  believe  I  will  join  him 
in  his  smoke. '^ 

That  was  all  that  was  said.  He  never  asked  me  whether 
I  often  smoked  or  not  and  it  ended  at  that. 

We  occupied  different  rooms  after  retiring  for  the  night, 
but  our  doors  were  open  and  we  passed  back  and  forth 
and  chatted  I  know  not  how  far  into  the  night. 

The  next  morning  we  went  out  to  the  little  station  for 
the  train  to  London  and  in  some  way  it  was  belated. 
Spurgeon  grew  weary  of  standing,  and  they  brought  him 
a  chair  and  he  sat  in  the  door  of  the  little  station.  The 
agent  or  guard  was  very  busy  with  his  tasks  and  at  first 
evidently  took  no  note  of  the  great  preacher.  In  passing 
him,  however,  he  recognized  him,  and  his  behavior 
was  something  not  to  be  forgotten.  He  sprang  back, 
took  off  his  railroad  cap,  and  bowed  almost  to  the 
ground. 

''Oh,  Mr.  Spurgeon,  I  am  guilty,  indeed,  and  beg  for 
mercy.  Here  you  are,  and  I  did  not  know  you,"  he  said 
with  manifest  pain,  ''  and  this,  too,  after  it  was  your  ser- 
mon that  brought  to  me  the  light  of  salvation.  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself  and  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

Thus  spoke  the  guard,  and  his  words  were  deeply  im- 
pressive. They  drew  the  little  company  quietly  around. 
Mr.  Spurgeon  was  strongly  moved. 

"  Oh,  my  man,"  he  said,  ''  reproach  not  yourself.  You 
were  busy  with  your  duties,  as  all  of  us  ought  to  be  ;  and 
why  should  you  be  looking  at  me?  It  is  enough  to  hear 
that  I  did  you  good  and  helped  you  find  the  way.  Take 
my  hand,  my  brother,  and  let  us  greet  each  other  in  the 
name  of  our  common  Lord." 


GLAD  DAYS  WITH  SPURGEON  249 

They  had  their  hand-grasp  and  the  man  stepped  back, 
and  said  with  untenable  sweetness  : 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Spurgeon,  good-bye  !  We  shall  know 
each  other  better  when  the  mists  have  rolled  away. ' ' 

No  more  delightful  incident  have  I  ever  witnessed.  It 
fell  upon  the  people  like  the  dews  of  Hermon  and  heaven 
seemed  very  near. 

We  were  soon  in  London  where  Mr.  Spurgeon' s  carriage 
was  waiting,  and  we  were  driven  immediately  to  his  or- 
phanage, where  we  spent  the  bulk  of  the  day.  As  we 
approached  the  entrance,  he  pointed  from  the  open 
carriage  and  said  :  ' '  Yonder  is  my  bank,  where  I 
get  my  money  for  taking  care  of  my  family  of  500  chil- 
dren.'^ 

I  told  him,  somewhat  grumblingly,  that  I  did  not  need  to 
have  very  much  to  do  with  banks,  but  ordinarily  I  could 
see  a  bank  when  it  was  in  front  of  me,  but  that  I  didn't 
see  any  bank  about  there.  We  were  then  about  to  pass 
under  an  archway  and  pointing  up  to  the  wall  he  said, 
^^  There  it  is,"  and  I  saw  cut  into  the  wall  the  words 
"Jehovah  Jireh." 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  is  my  bank  ;  it  never  breaks,  never 
suspends,  never  gets  empty.  My  children  have  never 
lacked  for  covering,  or  for  food  and  I  have  no  fear  that 
they  ever  will." 

That  day  was  one  of  the  memorable  days  of  my  life.  I 
saw  Mr.  Spurgeon  at  his  best ;  I  saw  the  order  and  the  pre- 
cision with  which  that  vast  charity  was  conducted.  I  saw 
the  almost  adoring  reverence  with  which  everybody 
treated  him.  I  had  him  tell  me  of  how  the  work  was 
done,  how  well  the  boys  and  girls  turned  out,  and  how  he 
baptized  scores  and  hundreds  of  them,  and  how  almost 
every  day  letters  full  of  gratitude,  and  telling  of  useful 
and  happy  lives  were  pouring  in  upon  him.  I  caught, 
that  day  in  some  little  measure,  a  glimpse  of  what  a  Chris- 


250  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

tian  orphanage  meant,  and  by  a  curious  coincidence,  al- 
most immediately  upon  my  return  to  America,  I  was 
made  the  official  head  of  an  orphanage  whose  scheme  it 
fell  upon  me  in  quite  a  large  part  to  lay,  and  with  which 
ever  since  I  have  been  associated.  I  almost  told  myself 
after  it  turned  out  as  it  did,  that  the  Lord  sent  me  to 
Spurgeon  to  learn  how  to  do  my  humble  part  in  orphan- 
age^work. 

I  have  already  referred  to  a  Sunday  dinner  which  Mr. 
Spurgeon  brought  me  to,  on  the  last  Sunday  that  I  was  in 
London.  I  counted  it  a  kindness  which  I  have  never 
been  able  amply  to  repay,  to  be  a  guest  in  the  home  of  a 
man  who  was  by  general  agreement,  the  most  efficient 
helper  that  Spurgeon  ever  had  in  the  various  enterprises 
in  which  he  and  his  people  were  engaged.  Already  this 
dear  man  had  finished  his  course,  but  his  home  stood,  and 
I  was  happy  indeed  to  sit  down  with  his  honored 
widow,  her  three  sons  and  her  eleven  daughters,  to  a  din- 
ner, elegant  in  its  provision  and  its  appointments,  and 
unspeakably  grateful  to  me  by  reason  of  the  heavenly 
atmosphere  which  filled  the  home.  It  was  an  exceed- 
ingly cheerful  dinner-party.  The  tide  of  talk  ran  very 
free,  but  it  was  clear  as  crystal  and  refreshing  as  the  water 
of  life.  Spurgeon  sparkled  with  wit,  and  led  the  laughter 
as  the  quiet  jest,  or  the  apt  repartee  went  round. 

I  must  be  pardoned  for  a  little  prank  played  upon  him 
and  of  which  I  dare  to  tell.  Mr.  Spurgeon  was  a  vege- 
tarian who  talked  ;  he  made  free  to  proclaim  himself  a 
vegetarian.  At  the  table  that  day  he  occui)ied  the  seat 
next  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  on  her  right,  and  I  sat  at 
his  right.  They  had  roast  pheasant  for  dinner  that  day 
and  during  the  progress  of  the  meal  my  vagrant  eye 
caught  sight  of  quite  a  formidable  slice  of  the  pheasant's 
breast  on  Mr.  Spurgeon' s  plate,  and  what  was  more,  I  saw 
that  he  was  vigorous  beyond  his  wont  in  his  attack  upon 


GLAD  DAYS  WITH  SPURGEON  251 

the  juicy  viand.  I  heaved  an  untimely  sigh  and  ex- 
pressed dolefully  enough  my  regret  that  I  had  to  return 
to  America. 

He  took  the  matter  quite  to  heart,  and  owned  to  grave 
surprise  that  I  spoke  so  slightingly  of  my  country. 

I  justified  myself  by  saying  that  the  Americans  were  so 
benighted  and  that  I  would  have  such  a  grievous  task  in 
bringing  them  out  of  darkness  into  the  true  English  light. 

*'  You  shock  me,"  he  said.  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
your  country  1 ' ' 

^'The  matter?  Matter  enough  indeed.  Why,  they 
have  not  even  found  out  in  America, — they  do  not  really 
know  that   a  pheasant  is  a  vegetable.''^ 

He  broke  into  good-natured  laughter,  and  after  a  pause 
he  said  :  "  Blame  me  not ;  the  woman,  she  gave  it  to  me." 

^^  Yes,"  said  the  lady  of  the  house,  ''  and  you  did  not 
fail  to  observe  that  the  man,  he  did  eat." 

Mr.  Spurgeon  engaged  to  meet  me  at  his  college  one 
afternoon.  It  was  the  day  on  which  he  was  to  lecture 
and  I  w^ent  hoping  to  hear  him  speak  to  the  students. 
Upon  my  arrival  I  found  a  note  from  him  in  which  he  said 
that  his  old  enemy,  *Hhe  rheumatic  gout,"  had  him  in 
hand  and  that  he  was  unable  to  leave  his  bed.  He 
begged  that  I  would  make  '*  a  long  address  "  to  the  boys, 
and  truly  I  never  had  a  happier  time  with  a  body  of 
students  than  was  mine  that  afternoon. 

These  are  but  samples  of  lovely  delicious  days  that  I 
had  with  Spurgeon.  I  heard  him  preach  about  a  dozen 
sermons,  was  often  on  the  pulpit  with  him,  spoke  for  him 
again  and  again  and  learned  to  feel  what  a  simple,  trans- 
parent, pure-hearted  man  he  was.  His  love  of  God  was 
his  life ;  his  work  for  humanity  was  his  happiness  and 
his  heart  was  full  of  light.  Some  time  after  my  return  to 
America  he  wrote  me  a  letter  which  I  accounted  the  most 
precious,   valuable    and    honorable    script   that  I  had 


252  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

among  the  papers  which  constituted  my  treasures.  In  it 
he  gave  me  thanks  for  the  good  which  he  said  he  got  out 
of  me,  asked  me  to  return  to  London  some  time  and  be  a 
guest  in  his  family  and  seal  a  friendship  which  he  was 
kind  enough  to  say  he  was  anxious  should  take  on  new 
strength  and  abide  to  the  end.  I  told  him  I  would  come  ; 
it  made  me  proud  that  he  wanted  me  and  I  felt  that  I 
would  gladly  cross  the  sea  if  I  could  put  even  a  little 
cheer  into  his  overtaxed  and  often  aching  heart. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  Soon  the  news  of  his  death  came 
and  after  that  I  had  little  heart  for  seeing  London  again. 
Then  came  the  burning  of  my  church  and  its  flames  con- 
sumed his  letters  and  other  tokens  of  kindness  which  he 
had  bestowed  upon  me.  Nothing  was  left  of  it  all  except 
the  assured  hope  that  I  shall  see  him  in  the  morning  and 
know  him  better  then  than  I  could  ever  have  known 
him  here. 


XVII 

WORK  IN  COLLEGES  AND  IN  THE  EDITORIAL 
CHAIR 

I  CAN  recall  no  part  of  my  career  as  a  minister  that 
has  been  more  interesting  or  fruitful  than  what  it 
has  been  my  privilege  to  do  in  colleges  and  uni- 
versities. Not  that  I  have  in  any  sense  made  that  a  spe- 
cial feature,  for  during  the  bulk  of  my  life  it  was  only 
on  rare  occasions  that  I  could  snatch  an  opportunity 
of  visiting  these  institutions  of  learning,  sometimes  for 
addresses,  courses  of  lectures  or  more  distinctly  for  evan- 
gelistic services.  Wake  Forest  College,  of  North  Caro- 
lina, has  always  been  to  me  a  school  which  commanded 
my  heart  and  enlisted  my  energies.  It  would  be  hard  to 
tell  how  many  times  I  have  gone  to  this  school  within  the 
last  forty  years.  It  has  always  had  a  peculiarly  reveren- 
tial spirit.  Wingate,  Pritchard,  Charles  E.  Taylor,  my 
old  college  mate,  and  W.  L.  Poteat  have  all  been  men 
whom  I  have  revered  and  ardently  cherished  and  my 
work  was  done  under  their  several  presidential  adminis- 
trations. They  have  had  associated  with  them  all  the 
time  not  only  men  of  accurate,  strong  scholarship,  but  of 
devout  and  active  piety. 

In  the  first  revival  meeting  held  at  Wake  Forest  there 
was  one  young  man  who  did  not  disguise  in  the  least  his 
antagonism  ;  his  unbelief  was  outspoken  and  his  mag- 
netism drew  around  him  quite  a  number  of  sympathizers. 
He  was  looked  upon  as  a  grave  menace  to  the  progress 
and  effectiveness  of  the  meeting.     I  could  not  regard  him 

253 


254  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

in  that  light.  He  struck  me  as  one  doubtful  of  his  own 
ground  and  anxious  to  disguise  his  own  convictions. 
The  meeting  closed,  however,  leaving  him  uncommitted, 
and  while  I  did  not  keep  in  communication  with  him  I 
thought  of  him  constantly  as  one  who  had  in  him  con- 
victions in  favor  of  religion  which  he  would  never  be 
able  to  destroy.  It  was  no  surx)rise  to  me  to  receive  four 
years  later  a  letter  announcing  his  decision  to  unite 
with  the  church  and  saying  that  he  dated  his  change 
back  to  the  meeting  at  Wake  Forest.  He  is  now  one  of 
the  most  influential  Christian  men  in  North  Carolina, 
full  of  righteous  leadership,  honest  to  the  core  and  hon- 
ored by  the  best  people  in  his  state.  It  seems  that  in 
the  case  of  young  men  of  high  spirit,  stubborn  will  and 
wild  ambitions,  they  always  find  it  hard  to  submit  to 
Christ  and  surrender  only  after  long  battles. 

Wq  must  not  despair  of  young  men  who  are  hard  to 
convert,  for  when  they  are  converted  you  may  look  out 
for  them  at  the  front  in  after  times. 

During  that  same  meeting  a  young  lady  came  to  see  me 
one  afternoon  at  the  president's  home  and  asked  for  a 
private  interview  with  me.  She  was  not  connected  with 
the  college  in  any  way  but  lived  several  miles  away  in 
the  country.  I  saw  at  once  that  she  was  sorely  troubled 
and  yet  reluctant  to  reveal  the  burden  which  she  felt 
unable  longer  to  bear.  I  drew  her  along  by  quiet  stages 
until  she  was  bold  enough  to  tell  me  her  story. 

^'I  was  converted,"  she  said,  *'when  I  was  twelve 
years  of  age,  and  from  that  time  I  felt  that  my  life  must 
be  absolutely  devoted  to  Christ  and  that  I  must  allow 
nothing  to  cross  my  way  that  could  possibly  divide  my 
affections  or  my  service.  My  parents  knew  of  my  con- 
viction and  approved  it.  They  gave  me  the  advantages 
of  the  best  schools,  and  when  I  finished  my  school  career 
I  decided  that  if  the  Lord  did  not  direct  me  otherwise 


WORK  IN  COLLEGES  255 

I  would  go  to  tlie  foreign  field,  and  up  to  that  time  I  had 
scarcely  known  a  momentary  waver  in  my  purpose. 

' '  Some  months  ago  there  came  into  my  life  a  new  ap- 
peal and  I  must  tell  you  frankly  that  it  was  novel  and 
mighty.  There  came  before  me  a  new  claimant  for  my 
heart  and  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  was 
loyal,  honorable  and  worthy  of  any  woman's  affection. 
He  opened  before  me  a  career  so  alluring  that  my  purpose 
has  been  quaking,  for  I  am  sure  that  if  I  were  to  link  my 
fate  with  his  I  would  make  him  unhappy  unless  I  should 
go  with  him  in  his  plans,  his  methods  of  living  and  his 
views  of  life. 

*^I^ow,"  she  said,  *^I  stand  at  the  parting  of  the  ways 
and  I  find  that  a  spirit  of  hesitancy  possesses  me.  I  bring 
my  case  to  you  and  ask  for  frank  dealing  at  your  hands.'' 

I  confess  that  I  was  moved  out  of  all  my  composure  by 
the  strain  and  pathos  of  her  story.  It  was  the  sight  of 
a  great  soul  in  a  supreme  conflict.  Of  course  I  took  time 
and  dropped  soothing  words  as  the  moments  went  by. 
But  at  the  last  I  told  her  it  was  one  of  those  personal, 
untransferable  things  in  which  no  stranger  and  even  no 
friend  could  intermeddle.  We  prayed  together  and 
parted  without  my  once  telling  her  to  dismiss  her  lover. 

The  meeting  went  on  for  days,  and  one  night  it  ended. 
Friends  lingered  in  the  hall  after  the  great  crowd  had 
gone  out,  for  pleasant  chat,  and  to  say  their  kindly 
farewells  before  I  went  to  the  train  that  was  to  take  me 
away.  As  I  went  down  the  aisle  in  leaving  the  hall 
some  one  touched  me  and  drew  me  around.  It  was  the 
young  woman  with  the  battle  on  hand.  Her  face  was 
radiant, — I  had  almost  said  heavenly, — and  as  she  took 
my  hand  she  said,  ''I  would  have  you  know  before  you 
go  ;  I  have  conquered  in  the  battle  at  the  Cross,"  and 
we  parted. 

Less  than  two  years  ago  I  was  at  a  great  country 


256  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

gathering  and  she  came  up  and  made  herself  known  to  me 
as  the  wife  of  one  of  the  most  gifted  young  ministers  in 
the  South,  and  I  found  that  she  was  at  the  head  of  the 
missionary  movements  of  the  women  of  her  denomination 
in  her  adopted  state.  Her  life  is  the  wonder  and  joy 
of  her  associates  and  all  because  of  her  undivided  loyalty 
to  Christ. 

In  the  nineties  I  went  to  Denison  University  in  Ohio 
to  preach  the  baccalaureate  sermon.  My  visit  was 
under  extraordinary  pressure,  I  reaching  there  late  and 
leaving  hastily  to  meet  other  engagements,  and  I  easily 
recall  with  what  a  sorrowful  sense  of  failure  I  bade  adieu 
to  the  place  as  one  that  I  would  gladly  forget  and  one 
that  would  be  glad  to  forget  me. 

Sometimes,  however,  the  aftermaths  of  a  preacher's 
performances  come  in  as  providential  comforters.  A  few 
months  after  my  visit  to  the  university  I  received  an 
invitation  to  come  during  the  ensuing  winter  and 
conduct  evangelistic  services.  These  were  held  in 
January,  1896,  and  were  marked  by  many  surprising  and 
thrilling  incidents. 

Candor  constrains  me  to  say  that  I  never  had  a  more 
depressing  beginning.  A  spiritual  numbness,  almost 
arctic  in  its  chill,  possessed  the  town  and  the  school,  and 
I  readily  admit  that  a  part  of  the  spiritual  torpor  seized 
me  and  it  looked  like  the  case  of  a  pithless  and  pointless 
preacher  feebly  descanting  on  the  resurrection  to  an 
apathetic  and  unresponsive  people.  For  nearly  a  week 
I  beat  the  air  without  a  convert,  without  a  tear  and  with 
nature's  thermometer  at  about  fifteen  below  zero  and  the 
thermometer  of  grace  a  good  deal  lower.  I  almost  be- 
lieve that  I  would  have  been  requested  to  leave  if 
there  had  been  enough  vitality  in  the  meeting  to  organize 
public  sentiment  on  that  point.     After  I  had  been  there 


WORK  IX  COLLEGES  257 

from  Tuesday  until  Suuday  niglit  I  ended  my  sermon 
with  a  statement  about  like  this:  ''I  have  been  here 
hammering  away  upon  you  for  nearly  a  week  and  I  have 
not  seen  a  spark  fly  nor  a  single  sign  that  any  arrow  from 
my  quiver  has  entered  any  soul.  If  you  have  cared  for 
my  preaching  you  have  not  said  it,  and  if  you  care  for 
the  salvation  of  the  lost  you  have  adroitly  concealed 
your  feelings.  There  seems  to  be  no  spiritual  relation 
between  you  and  me,  and  I  have  reached  the  point  where 
I  want  to  find  out  something.  I  am  coming  down  out  of 
this  lofty  pulpit  and  take  my  stand  on  the  floor,  and  if 
any  of  you  have  a  living  interest  in  these  meetings,  if 
any  of  you  are  crying  after  a  better  life,  if  any  of  you 
are  burdened  for  the  salvation  of  the  lost,  and  if  any  of 
you  wish  this  meeting  to  go  on  I  ask  you  to  come  up 
and  give  me  your  hand.  I  will  give  you  five  minutes  to 
come  or  not  to  come,  and  if  you  do  not  come  then  I  will 
have  something  else  to  say  to  you." 
'  Then  I  went  down  and  there  I  stood  ;  I  did  not  look 
at  my  watch  but  it  was  a  momentously  long  time,  and  I 
was  beginning  to  wonder  what  time  the  train  would  start 
next  morning.  Then  a  very  distinguished  gentleman, 
very  prominent  in  the  town  and  a  part  of  the  university, 
arose  quite  far  back  in  the  large  building  and  came 
forward,  moving  very  slowly  as  if  he  had  the  burden  of 
several  centuries  upon  his  shoulders,  and  gave  me  his 
hand.  I  told  him  that  I  was  very  happy  to  see  him  and 
that  I  would  remember  him  to  my  dying  day,  which 
thing  I  am  honestly  doing.  Then  another  ominous  and 
appalling  pause  struck  me.  In  a  little  while,  however,  a 
woman  started  and  on  her  way  her  emotions  overcame 
her,  and  when  she  reached  me  she  was  shaking  under  a 
strain  which  she  made  no  effort  to  conceal.  She  was  one 
of  the  choicest  Christian  ladies  of  the  community  and 
there  was  a  resistless  contagion  in  her  feeling.     It  called 


258  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

out  the  timid  and  half- conscious  struggles  of  unnumbered 
souls  and  it  would  not  be  too  much  to  say  that  within 
the  next  few  minutes  300  people  came  and  there  were  few 
faces  that  were  not  bedewed  with  tears. 

When  the  tide  went  out  I  announced  that  the  meeting 
would  go  on  and  asked  for  a  hymn  and  also  for  con- 
fessions of  Christ.  The  response  was  six  men  and  one 
boy.  A  week  later  the  meeting  ended  and  so  far  as 
could  be  known  there  were  about  250  conversions. 
Hundreds  of  people  attended  daily  from  outside  of  the 
town  and  of  course  school  and  town  poured  their  contents 
into  the  great  meeting  at  every  service.  My  attention 
was  called,  by  some  of  the  university  boys,  to  one  of 
their  number  who  was  quite  a  brilliant  and  defiant 
atheist  by  profession.  I  dined  one  day  at  the  chapter 
house  where  he  ate  his  meals  and  got  my  first  sight  of 
him.  He  was  almost  big  enough  to  constitute  an  agnostic 
club  all  to  himself.  I  ventured  to  speak  to  him  one  day, 
— at  least  as  much  of  him  as  I  could  get  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of,  and  the  scornful  growl  which  he  let  fly  at  me 
almost  took  my  breath.  He  disposed  of  me  by  saying, 
*' You  must  know,  sir,  that  all  men  do  not  see  alike,  and 
I  see  nothing  in  the  doctrine  of  a  God."  I  told  him  rather 
tremulously,  big  as  he  was,  that  after  all  there  might 
be  space  enough  in  the  universe  for  God  to  get  standing 
room,  and  we  parted  at  that. 

"We  had  inquirers'  meetings  and  one  day  there  were 
many  present  and  among  them  was  my  colossal  atheist. 
I  began  by  inquiring  the  names  of  the  difierent  persons 
present  and  asking  them  a  question  or  two  with  the  view 
of  a  brief  address  and  a  prayer. 

When  I  came  to  the  giant  I  expressed  surprise  to  see 
him  and  he  instantly  put  on  the  war  paint.  ^*  I  ought 
not  to  have  come,"  he  said  harshly ;  ''  the  boys  persuaded 
me  in  to  it." 


WORK  IN  COLLEGES  259 

**Tlie  boys  made  a  mistake,'^  I  said,  *^and  I  will 
pause  a  moment  to  give  you  time  to  leave. '^ 

He  winced  evidently. 

*' Before  I  go,  sir,'^  lie  said  haughtily,  "will  you 
kindly  tell  me  why  you  believe  in  the  existence  of  a 
God?'' 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  will  ask  you  some 
questions.  The  president  of  your  university  has  written 
a  book  on  Christian  Theism.     Have  you  studied  it  f 

"No,  I  have  not,''  he  replied. 

"There  is  a  book,"  I  continued,  "called  the  Bible, 
which  claims  to  come  from  God ;  have  you  read 
that?" 

"No,  sir,  I  have  never  read  it,"  he  said  rather  sul- 
lenly. 

"Evidently  you  are  not  seeking  light  as  to  the  exist- 
ence of  God,"  I  said  with  decision,  "and  I  am  sur- 
rounded by  those  who  are  inquiring  the  way  to  God.  If 
I  had  three  days  and  nothing  to  do,  I  might  possibly  give 
you  some  of  the  reasons  why  I  believe  in  God,  but  under 
my  present  condition  and  in  your  present  mental  mood  I 
have  no  time  to  give  you  and  I  request  you  to  retire." 

It  was  strong  medicine,  and  he  revolted  from  it,  being 
manifestly  anxious  for  a  wrangle.  Just  as  he  was  rising 
to  his  feet  to  go  out,  a  thing  occurred  so  touching,  so 
beautiful,  and  so  full  of  spiritual  power,  that  I  almost 
thought  it  must  be  the  voice  of  God.  A  young  man 
sprang  to  his  feet,  truly  one  of  the  most  handsome  speci- 
mens of  the  genus  homo  that  I  ever  looked  upon,  and 
bursting  into  tears,  he  said,  "Dr.  Hatcher,  I  believe  in 
God,  but  I  am  so  sinful  and  blind  that  I  cannot  find  my 
way  to  Him  and  I  am  afraid  that  He  will  never  let  me 
come  to  Him." 

"Sit  down,  my  dear  boy,"  I  said,  moved  to  tears  by 
his  pathetic  speech j  "I  can  help  you.     Wait  till  this 


ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

young  man  gets  out  and  I'll  show  you  the  path  that  leads 
to  God.'' 

It  was  a  striking  scene.  One  young  man  turning  his 
back  upon  God  ;  the  other  trying  to  find  Him. 

I  saw  nothing  more  of  the  atheistic  giant  until  the  last 
night  of  the  meeting.  My  last  message  had  been  de- 
livered and  I  asked  for  public  confessions  of  Christian 
faith.  I  saw  some  one  rise  near  the  door  and  start  for- 
ward. As  he  came  into  full  view  I  discovered  that  it  was 
none  other  than  my  obstreperous  atheist,  and  walking 
over  to  his  side  of  the  house,  I  said  to  him  as  he  drew 
near,  "Hello  ;  it  looks  as  if  you  have  discovered  that 
there  is  a  God." 

Choked  with  emotion  he  replied,  "Yes,  I  have  found 
that  there  is  a  God  and  I  have  come  foith  to  declare  my 
faith  and  to  give  Him  my  life."  I  never  saw  him  after- 
wards, but  the  university  offered  special  advantages  to  a 
young  Virginia  boy  in  whom  I  was  interested,  and  that 
boy,  during  one  of  his  vacations,  canvassed  in  Michigan 
for  books  to  help  him  out  in  his  hard  pull  for  an  educa- 
tion. During  the  summer  he  wrote  me  a  letter  and  told 
me  that  he  and  my  ex-atheist  were  working  together,  and 
that  he  accounted  him  the  most  devout  and  godly  young 
man  within  the  range  of  his  acquaintance. 

During  the  progress  of  this  same  meeting.  President 
Purinton  came  from  the  chapel  and  calling  me  into  his 
office  said  to  me  that  he  had  a  renewed  faith  in  God,  and 
said  it  in  a  manner  which  told  plainly  enough  that  he 
had  a  new  experience  ;  and  so  I  asked  him  to  tell  me  how 
it  happened. 

There  was  a  young  man  in  the  university  in  his  senior 
year  who  was  from  Cincinnati, — very  gifted,  very  irre- 
ligious and  dangerously  magnetic.  The  president  said 
that  he  had  been  uneasy  about  that  young  man's  influence 
ever  since  he  came  to  the  university  j  not  that  he  was  a 


WORK  IN  COLLEGES  261 

corrupter  of  morals,  but  that  he  was  so  fascinating  in  his 
worldliness  and  irreverence.  He  said  also  that  he  had 
constantly  prayed  for  him  through  the  four  years  that  he 
had  been  in  the  school  and  yet  at  times  was  tempted  to 
feel  it  was  vain  to  pray. 

He  then  told  me  that  the  young  man  was  present  at  the 
meeting  in  which  we  had  the  memorable  and  moving 
hand-shake,  and  was  greatly  offended  by  it,  even  making 
a  vow  and  sealing  it  with  an  oath,  when  passing  through 
the  vestibule  in  leaving  the  church,  that  he  would  never 
enter  the  church  again.  To  that  ill-born  committal  he 
stuck  inexorably  for  a  week,  but  on  the  night  before,  the 
president  told  me,  a  group  of  the  godly  students  deter- 
mined that  they  would  call  on  the  young  scoffer  in  a  body 
and  seek  to  bring  him  to  Christ. 

He  knew  them  well ;  they  were  among  his  best  friends 
and  he  well  understood  the  reason  for  their  coming  as 
they  did.  He  anticipated  their  appeal  by  ordering  them 
out  of  his  room  and  refusing  sternly  to  hear  them.  They 
would  not  go  and  undertook  to  plead  with  him,  and  he 
finally  took  his  chair  to  the  corner  of  the  room  and  facing 
the  wall  and  cramming  his  fingers  in  his  ears,  he  re- 
fused to  hear  them.  His  bearing  was  so  cross  and  morti- 
fying that  the  boys  withdrew  and  went  away  to  one  of 
their  rooms,  gathered  reinforcements,  told  of  their  expe- 
rience, and  determined  to  continue  in  prayer.  It  was  a 
solemn  meeting  and  with  tears  and  agony  they  cried  unto 
God  ;  they  cried  long,  and  with  holy  persistency.  Sud- 
denly the  door  flew  open  and  some  one  fell  on  the  floor 
in  the  midst  of  them.  ''  I  give  up,  boys,"  said  the  young 
man,  ''  I  can  stand  it  no  longer  ;  that  was  my  despairing 
struggle  down  in  my  room.  I  fought  it  as  long  as  I  could, 
but  I  want  you  all  to  pray  for  me  that  God  will  receive 
me  and  make  me  His  servant." 

This  was  the  story  told  by  President  Purintou  and  it 


2G2  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

was  with  an  alert  and  buoyant  step  the  young  man 
came  out  at  the  next  service  of  our  meeting  and  took  his 
stand  for  Christ. 

Five  or  six  years  after  that  I  was  returning  to  Virginia 
from  the  West,  and  left  the  train  at  Clifton  Forge.  Sud- 
denly a  young  man  rushed  out  of  the  sleeper,  sprang  to 
the  ground,  and  seized  my  hand.  It  was  indeed  a  most 
rapturous  greeting,  and  I  wondered  who  on  earth  it  could 
be  who  was  overx)Owering  me  with  his  demonstrations. 

'^You  don't  know  me?"  he  asked.  ^'Why,  I  am 
Wiltsier,  the  Cincinnati  boy  who  tried  so  hard  not  to  be- 
come a  Christian  during  that  revival  at  Denison,  but 
failed  so  gloriously  in  my  resistance." 

'^  Are  you  still  at  it  r '  I  asked. 

"Sure,  doctor  ;  ever  at  it  and  at  it  forever." 

As  this  is  somewhat  of  an  Ohio  chapter,  I  might  add 
one  or  two  other  incidents  which  occurred  in  meetings 
held  in  the  Buckeye  State. 

An  incidental  result  of  my  work  at  Denison  was  an  in- 
vitation to  the  Ashland  Avenue  Church,  Toledo.  There 
I  had  an  experience  quite  different  and  yet  about  as 
acute  as  was  the  depressing  start  in  the  meeting  in  Gran- 
ville, the  seat  of  the  Denison  University.  For  nearly  a 
week  the  Toledo  meeting  was  thinly  attended  and  con- 
spicuous in  nothing  except  in  the  multitude  of  empty 
pews  and  the  absence  of  men.  The  situation  hit  me  in 
the  centre,  and  I  became  desperate. 

'*I  am  going  home  to-morrow,"  I  said  gloomily  one 
morning  to  Dr.  Emory  Hunt,  the  pastor  of  the  Ashland 
Avenue  Church.  ' '  The  men  have  ignominiously  deserted 
us,  and  while  women  are  better  than  men,  there  never 
was  a  great  revival  unless  there  were  sympathetic  men  to 
lead  it."  He  made  scant  reply  but  I  heard  him  tele- 
phoning in  the  hall  soon  afterwards. 


WORK  IN  COLLEGES  263 

Presently  one  of  his  true  men,  a  man  converted  not 
very  long  before,  and  who  had  been  at  every  service  of 
the  meeting,  walked  in  and  Hunt  asked  me  to  repeat  what 
I  had  said  to  him  about  returning  to  Virginia.  I  did  it 
as  tersely  as  possible. 

The  brother's  name  was  Dow.  He  listened  in  silence 
and  admitted  the  justice  of  my  complaint.  He  was  pro- 
foundly affected,  and  finally  told  us  that  if  his  carriage 
and  his  telephone  had  any  influence  he  would  give  me 
some  men  to  talk  to  that  night.  The  night  came,  but  I 
could  not  see  the  men  and  thought  that  his  carriage  and 
his  'phone  were  not  effective  as  evangelistic  agencies. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting  that  night,  however,  I  was 
invited  into  one  of  the  large  rooms  of  the  great  church 
building.  There  were  the  men  and  I  was  told  that  the 
freedom  of  the  occasion  was  mine,  and  I  used  it,  not  as 
abusing  it,  but  as  coming  quite  near  to  the  point  of 
abusing  those  men. 

^'I  am  here,  gentlemen,"  I  said,  ^' not  as  an  intruder, 
but  on  an  invitation  from  you  to  help  in  a  revival  meet- 
ing. Thus  far  the  meeting  has  failed  because  those  who 
invited  me,  in  a  large  measure,  have  not  come,  and  the 
pastor  tells  me  that  you  have  pled  pressure  of  business 
as  your  excuse.  If  you  are  too  busy  to  have  the  meeting, 
then  why  not  break  it  up  ?  I  think  possibly  that  you 
stay  away  because  you  do  not  like  to  hear  me  preach. 
If  that  be  so,  I  am  not  surprised.  There  are  scores 
and  tons  of  people  where  I  came  from  who  do  not 
seem  to  like  my  preaching,  and  if  that  is  the  trouble  tell 
me  so,  and  I  will  go  back  where  I  live  and  where  I  have 
men  that  are  willing  to  hear  me.  I  would  not  mind  your 
dislike  one  fraction  as  much  as  I  do  your  neglect.  In 
fact  I  would  rather  for  you  to  get  bludgeons  and  clubs 
and  guns,  and  force  me  out  of  your  town  than  to  leave  me 
to  minister  on  the  lifeless  remains  of  a  revival  in  which 


264:  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

you  invited  me  to  help  you.  Settle  sometliing  to-niglit 
aud  tell  me  your  conclusion." 

I  started  to  walk  out  but  one  man  with  ire  in  his  eye 
arose  and  asked,  ^^  What  do  you  want  us  to  do  1 " 

I  told  him  that  it  would  be  a  formidable  task  to  write 
a  schedule  for  every  individual  in  that  room,  but  that  I 
thought  that  I  could  tell  him  what  he  ought  to  do. 
^'Yesterday,"  I  said  to  him,  '' your  father,  eighty  years 
old,  came  to  see  me,  to  tell  me  that  he  was  born  in  Cul- 
peper,  Ya.,  and  to  talk  with  me  about  the  land  of  his 
birth.  A  fine  old  gentleman  he  was  and  a  most  interest- 
ing chat  we  had,  and  when  he  was  leaving  I  said  to  him 
that  he  was  once  born  in  Culpeper  aud  that  I  would  like 
to  know  whether  he  had  ever  been  born  again.  He  told 
me  that  he  was  still  in  his  sins  and  without  God  in  the 
world."  I  then  added  that  I  thought  that  the  son  of  an 
old  man  like  that,  if  he  himself  was  a  real  hearted  Chris- 
tian, would  have  little  trouble  in  knowing  what  he  ought 
to  do.  Be  it  said  to  his  honor  that  he  took  the  hint  in 
good  part  and  did  the  work. 

It  was  a  thing  never  to  be  forgotten  to  see  how  those  men 
piled  into  the  room  the  next  night,  many  of  them  bring- 
ing their  families,  some  of  them  attended  by  their  em- 
ployees and  yet  others  bringing  friends  and  strangers  as 
they  could.  The  work  began  that  night  with  unmistakable 
tokens  of  the  power  of  God.  The  next  Sunday  morning 
was  the  greatest  day  that  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  ministerial 
life.  It  was  a  grown-up  people's  revival.  Scarcely  any 
children  made  confessions  but  a  great  number  of  men,  in 
many  cases,  men  and  their  wives,  and  the  bulk  of  the  con- 
verts were  married  people.  One  gentleman,  a  highly 
reputable  wholesale  merchant,  told  his  wife  that  morning 
that  he  would  go  with  her  to  church  though  he  had  no 
respect  for  that  kind  of  a  meeting,  that  he  would  never 
take  any  public  stand  in  religion,  and  that  if  anybody 


AVORK  IN  COLLEGES  265 

dared  to  speak  to  him  that  morning,  he  would  walk  out 
of  the  church  and  never  enter  it  again.  "While  the  people 
were  going  forward  that  morning  a  friend  passed  up  the 
aisle  near  this  gentleman,  and,  pausing,  said,  ''Clarence, 
have  you  heard  the  call  this  morning  which  comes  to  you 
from  God?" 

"Yes,  Julius,  I  have  heard,  and  wait;  I  want  you  to 
go  with  me,"  he  replied,  and  both  of  his  solemn  vows  got 
smashed  up  that  day  to  the  glory  of  God  and  to  his  own 
salvation. 

In  the  audience  that  morning  was  an  avowed  atheist 
from  Detroit,  who  had  come  to  church  with  his  sister. 
As  they  walked  away  she  said  to  him,  "Brother, 
I  have  believed  before  that  there  was  a  God  and  on  that 
faith  I  joined  the  church,  but  I  never  knew  that  there  was 
a  God  so  overwhelmingly  as  I  know  it  now." 

"Talk  not  to  me,"  the  man  excitedly  answered.  "I 
hate  the  very  thought  of  God,  and  would  rather  die  than 
to  believe  that  there  is  a  God,  but  when  that  call  for  a 
confession  of  faith  in  God  was  made  to-day  I  had  to  hold 
to  the  bench  with  both  of  my  hands  to  keep  me  from  going. 
There  was  a  power  in  that  meeting  that  I  never  felt 
before." 

This  meeting  continued  a  week  after  the  memorable 
service  just  described,  and  on  the  last  Sabbath  there  were 
over  sixty  boys  and  girls  converted.  The  last  service  of 
the  meeting  occurred  on  Sunday  night  and  it  was  a  dis- 
tinct Christian  triumph.  The  conversions  multii)lied  too 
fast  to  be  counted.  There  lived  a  rich,  retired  gentle- 
man in  a  house  near  the  church  and  notable  because  of 
its  vast  number  of  windows.  The  master  of  that  house 
had  a  friend  who  lived  not  far  away  and  who  had  no  em- 
ployment. They  had  time  on  their  hands  and  much  to 
spare  and  they  played  cards,  so  it  was  said,  all  day  and 
late  into  the  night.     The  gentleman  in  the  many-win- 


266  ALONG  THE  TKAIL 

dowed  home  had  one  little  daughter  who  found  her  way 
into  our  meeting  and  was  gloriously  saved  and  in  a  little 
■while  her  mother  confessed  the  Lord  also.  The  father 
was  sensibly  affected,  but  he  and  his  comrade  in  the  sport 
held  off  and  would  not  attend  the  meeting.  On  the  last 
Sunday  night  each  of  these  men  decided  to  go  to  the 
meeting  without  telling  the  other.  The  auditorium  was 
very  large  and  the  crowd  overwhelming  and  the  two  men 
entered  tlie  church  by  different  doors  and  sat  far  from 
each  other,  but  the  arrows  of  heaven  flew  far  and  wide 
that  night,  and  each  of  them  fell  beneath  the  conquering 
power  of  the  Cross.  Calls  for  confession  were  made  ;  the 
audience  stood  up  and  sang  and  among  the  many  who 
came  were  these  two  men,  and,  by  a  curious  coincidence, 
while  coming  from  different  directions  and  in  utter 
ignorance  of  what  the  other  was  doing,  they  appeared  in 
the  presence  of  the  ministers  almost  in  the  same  second  to 
make  their  confession  of  Christ. 

It  was  also  my  delightful  privilege  to  be  associated 
with  Dr.  Henry  L.  Colby,  of  the  First  Baptist  Church, 
of  Dayton,  Ohio,  in  a  meeting  whose  strains  and  victories 
are  woven  into  the  very  shreds  of  my  life.  That  church 
is  justly  distinguished  for  its  broad  and  abounding  liber- 
ality. Excepting  one  other  church  of  our  denomination 
it  is  said  to  be  the  foremost  church  in  its  gifts  to  our 
missionary  treasuries.  I  was  greatly  stirred  by  the  spirit 
of  that  church  as  shown  in  our  revival  services.  The 
richest  and  most  cultivated  of  the  people  were  among  the 
foremost  in  their  personal  zeal  in  the  matter  of  soul 
saving.  I  recall  a  beautiful  girl,  trained  in  the  finest 
schools  of  the  country  and  just  home  after  a  year  of  Oriental 
travel,  who  stood  in  the  vestibule  and  handed  a  singing 
book  to  each  person  at  each  service  and  gave  to  them  a 
word  of  gracious  welcome  as  they  entered  the  house.  It 
seemed  a  simple  act  enough  but  it  was  the  work  of  her 


WORK  IX  COLLEGES  267 

heart,  Ler  way  of  betokening  her  interest  iu  every  soul, 
and  her  device  by  which  she  hox)ed  to  save  some. 

Prominent  in  the  membership  of  that  church  were  a 
gentleman  and  his  wife  with  only  one  child,  a  son  grown 
to  manhood  and  under  the  deadly  fascination  of  the 
world.  The  anxiety  of  the  parents  played  mightily  uj)on 
the  hearts  of  the  people.  In  this  great  company  of  the 
anxious  there  was  a  modest  Christian  lady  who  hit  upon 
an  unusual  device  for  bringing  the  young  man  to  the 
meetings.  She  wrote  him  a  note  asking  for  his  company 
to  the  church  on  a  given  evening.  It  was  a  thing  out 
of  the  usual  order ;  she  was  fully  his  social  equal,  and 
while  naturally  dreading  the  misinterpretation  of  her  act, 
she  could  think  of  nothing  better  and  prayerfully  made 
the  venture.  At  first  the  young  man  affected  surprise 
and  offense,  and  told  his  mother  that  he  accounted  it  a 
distinct  indiscretion.  The  mother  knew  well  enough 
what  it  meant  but  she  told  him  that  if  he  took  that  view 
of  it  he  ought  by  all  means  to  decline  her  invitation. 
She  spoke  kindly  of  the  young  lady  but  assured  her  son 
that  if  he  had  any  ground  for  suspicion  that  she  had 
transcended  the  bounds  of  propriety  he  ought  to  break 
up  existing  relations  and  have  no  more  to  do  with  her. 
For  the  time  the  suggestion  pleased  the  young  man  and 
he  went  off  to  put  it  into  execution  ;  but  as  a  fact  he 
was  not  acting  candidly,  and  during  the  day  he  came 
back  and  told  his  mother  that  he  ought  not  to  have 
uttered  such  an  unjust  censure  upon  the  young  woman, 
and  he  withdrew  it.  The  mother  then  told  him  that  he 
need  not  go  with  her  if  he  felt  unwilling  to  do  so  and 
that  he  could  decline  in  a  way  that  could  not  be  offensive 
to  her. 

That  pleased  him  wonderfully  and  he  retired  to  send 
her  a  note.  The  note  did  not  go,  however,  and  he  came 
back  again  and  said  that  he  did  not  have  any  good  reason 


268  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

for  not  going  with  her  except  that  he  did  not  wish  to 
attend  the  meeting.  His  mother  suggested  that  he  might 
take  her  to  the  door  and  call  for  her  at  the  end  of  the 
service  and  he  jumped  at  that  suggestion  and  decided  to 
act  upon  it.  Just  before  he  left  the  house  to  go  after  the 
young  woman,  he  dropped  in  to  say  to  his  mother  that 
he  had  decided  after  all  that  he  had  better  not  emphasize 
his  aversion  to  the  meeting  by  refusing  to  enter  the  church, 
and  so  he  had  determined  to  go  in.  At  the  close  of  the 
meeting  the  young  lady  brought  him  up  and  introduced 
him  to  me.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  case  but  read  in  his 
manner  the  traces  of  his  embarrassment,  and  so  we  passed 
a  few  genial  and  friendly  words  without  any  appeal  to 
him  in  favor  of  the  Gospel. 

On  the  following  evening  at  the  close  of  my  sermon  I 
asked  for  open  confession  of  Clirist  and  had  the  pleasant 
surprise  of  greeting  among  others  this  young  man.  His 
embarrassment  was  now  all  gone  and  he  said  that  after  the 
young  lady  went  forward  with  him  the  night  before  to  meet 
me  it  gave  him  some  sense  of  what  it  meant  to  take  a  stand 
for  Christ.  That  young  woman  tried  a  bold  expedient,  but  it 
was  all  for  her  Eedeemer'  s  honor  and  she  won  a  rare  victory. 

Think  of  that  mother  also.  She  had  that  preeminent 
sense  of  knowing  how  to  handle  a  capricious  and  tempted 
son.     When  a  woman  is  wise  what  a  wise  woman  she  is. 

While  I  cannot  even  mention  the  names  of  the  various 
colleges  and  universities  in  which  I  have  labored,  I  must 
mention  briefly  several  other  schools. 

Franklin  College  at  Franklin,  Indiana,  has  been  an 
institution  of  learning  with  powerful  attractions  to  me, 
under  the  presidency  of  E.  B.  Bryan,  LL.  D.,  one  of  the 
most  accomplished  and  interesting  men  in  our  American 
Eepublic.  He  distinguished  himself  in  educational  work 
in  the  Philippines,  and  then  came  home  to  add  lustre  to 


WORK  IN  COLLEGES  269 

Franklin  College  by  his  efficient  administration.  I  was 
there  several  times  and  witnessed  most  signal  proofs  of 
the  value  of  proper  college  government  as  a  means  of 
promoting  evangelical  religion  among  the  student  body. 
Glorious  revivals  I  witnessed  there,  and  felt  that  under 
President  Bryan  and  Eev.  P.  L.  Powell,  D.  D.,  it  was 
indeed  a  charming  task  to  preach  the  Gospel  in  a  college 
town  in  which  the  citizens  and  the  college  took  har- 
monious part,  and  shared  equally  in  the  showers  of  grace 
which  fell  from  heaven.  It  was  a  sight  indeed  to  see  the 
college  president  grappling  the  business  men  of  the  com- 
munity, and  by  tactful  grace  leading  many  of  them  into 
the  service  of  God. 

I  cannot  forget  a  notable  revival  in  Hamilton,  New 
York,  the  seat  of  Colgate  University.  It  must  be  frankly 
said  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  community  was  impreg- 
nated dangerously  with  the  spirit  of  TJnitarianism  and 
Universalism,  and  I  found  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
our  work  obstinate  and  formidable  indeed,  but  there  were 
noble  people  there,  those  who  believed  in  the  saving 
blood  of  the  Eedeemer,  who  cried  mightily  to  God  for 
saving  power,  and  who  during  the  long  wait  never 
wavered.  I  can  never  forget  Dr.  Arthur  Jones  of  the 
university,  who  was  the  vanguard  of  the  evangelical 
hosts.  He  it  was  who  planned  a  prayer-meeting  in  the 
grand  stand  on  the  athletic  grounds,  a  movement  which 
some  oi3enly  despised,  and  even  many  of  the  devout 
looked  upon  with  misgiving,  and  I  fear  I  was  among 
them ;  but  Dr.  Jones  was  unyielding.  He  said  we 
ought  to  have  that  meeting  ;  he  planned  for  it,  and  in- 
sisted on  it.  It  looked  as  if  all  motives  conspired  to 
make  the  peoi)le  come,  and  especially  the  university 
students,  who  were  hard  to  reach.  The  stand  overflowed, 
many  driven  into  it  from  the  playgrounds  by  a  rain, 
which  came  just  at  the  moment  of  meeting,  and  from  the 


270  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

first  song  that  was  struck  the  power  of  God  filled  the 
place.  The  feeling  was  something  unworldly  and  irre- 
sistible, and  from  that  time  the  tide  changed,  and  when 
the  meetings  closed  a  little  while  after  scores  and  scores 
had  been  converted. 

I  wish  to  say  that  while  I  never  spoke  of  Universalism, 
or  any  of  its  kindred  heresies,  I  put  up  against  it  the 
plain,  uncomi)romised  Gospel  as  found  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament. I  presented  Jesus  Christ  as  the  Son  of  God,  as 
the  sacrifice  for  sin,  as  the  King  in  Zion  and  the  Bible  as 
the  word  of  God,  and  on  that  rested  the  issue.  Oh,  it 
was  wonderful.  I  tremble  as  I  think  of  it  now.  I  never 
undertake  to  count  converts,  but  on  the  last  night  of  the 
meeting  a  mathematical  brother  kept  tally  of  the  con- 
fessions, and  reported  that  there  were  130  of  them. 

We  need  not  be  uneasy  about  the  old  Gospel ;  that  is 
all  right,  and  just  as  mighty  now  as  on  the  day  of  Pente- 
cost. It  is  always  adaptable  to  present  conditions,  with- 
out any  change  in  its  doctrines  or  its  terms.  And  if 
those  who  harbor  secret  sympathy  with  the  new  doc- 
trines and  frigidly  preach  the  old  Gospel  with  frills  of 
the  new  theology  pinned  on  to  cover  up  the  signs  of 
blood  would  stop  their  foolishness  and  tell  the  story  of 
Calvary,  they  could  help  us  mightily  in  bringing  the  sal- 
vation of  the  world. 

I  went  to  a  school  in  the  South  several  years  ago  for 
revival  service,  in  the  midst  of  the  baseball  season. 
Some  of  the  sincerely,  but  narrowly  devout,  were  droop- 
ing with  despondency  about  the  meeting,  because  the 
I)aseball  team  had  four  match  games  for  the  week  during 
which  the  meeting  was  to  occur,  two,  away  from  home 
and  two  at  home,  and  it  was  actually  discussed  as  an  evil 
that  ought  to  be  broken  up.  My  reply  was,  ^^  Not  at  all ; 
let  the  boys  play  their  games,  and  let  us  ask  God  to  use 
those  strapping  giants  for  His  glory  during  the  meet- 


WORK  IN  COLLEGES  271 

ing."  The  boys  came  home  and  played  their  first  match 
on  their  own  grounds  on  Thursday  afternoon,  and 
whipped  their  antagonists  gloriously,  and  that  night  the 
captain  of  the  team  and  two  others  whipped  the  devil 
yet  more  gloriously,  and  came  out  for  Christ.  Up  to  the 
closing  meeting  Sunday  night  every  member  of  the  team 
had  been  converted  but  one.  The  next  morning  just  as 
the  train  on  which  I  was  leaving  began  to  move,  a  brawny, 
handsome  fellow  sprang  into  the  car  and  seized  my  hand. 
"My  name  is  Cunningham,"  he  said,  "one  of  the 
baseball  boys ;  the  only  one  left  out ;  I  thought  you 
would  want  to  know,  and  so  I  ran  in  to  tell  you  that  I 
am  in  also  ;  the  whole  team  is  now  lined  up  for  Christ. '^ 
Then  out  he  sprang  from  the  flying  train,  and  I  was 
thinking  how  greatly  the  Lord  honored  His  grace  by  the 
way  He  handled  that  athletic  team.  Even  to  this  day  I 
can  hardly  see  a  hardy,  determined  baseball  game  with- 
out hoping  that  the  Lord  will  get  a  good  contingent  out 
of  the  fray  for  His  own  service,  later  on. 

It  was  no  part  of  my  consciousness  of  duty  that  I  was 
ever  to  be  an  editor,  but  the  love  of  composition  was  in- 
herent in  me.  The  thought  that  I  might  at  some  time 
see  some  production  of  my  own  pen  in  print  burned 
as  a  flame  in  my  soul  in  my  youthful  days.  The  first 
production  ever  published  of  my  own  was  an  obituary, 
and  possibly  no  other  mortal  ever  was  so  jubilant  over 
a  sombre  specimen  of  literature  as  I  was  over  that 
obituary.  I  was  almost  insane  with  delight  and  would 
probably  have  been  hopelessly  so  but  for  the  fact  that  I 
committed  the  grievous  blunder  of  putting  the  name  of 
Zaccheus  for  Zacharias  in  the  article.  That  nearly  fitted 
me  for  the  lunatic  asylum  by  crushing  me  into  the  dust 
with  a  sense  of  being  an  incurable  fool.  As  that  was  my 
first  article  it  was  also  my  last  for  many  a  weary  month. 


272  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

My  caccethes  scribendi  gradually  returned,  tliough  con- 
siderably chastened  and  cautious. 

Just  after  entering  the  pastorate  I  wrote  quite  a 
number  of  character- sketches  which  attracted  some  little 
attention  and  revived  my  courage,  which  had  suffered 
such  wreck  in  the  Zaccheus  tragedy.  I  found  myself 
writing  for  a  number  of  newspapers  in  and  out  of  Vir- 
ginia but  had  no  thought  whatever  of  becoming  an  editor. 

Dr.  J.  B.  Jeter,  a  minister  of  commanding  abilities  and 
greatly  distinguished  for  writing  the  purest  English  and 
that  in  the  most  winsome  style,  was  a  kinsman  of  mine. 
For  many  years  he  was  the  editor  of  the  Eeligious  Herald 
of  Richmond,  Va.,  and  the  paper  attained  an  extraordi- 
nary celebrity  under  his  magnetic  touch.  Some  time 
after  his  death  his  widow,  who  still  owned  an  interest  in 
the  paper,  made  request  of  my  church  that  I  might  be  her 
representative  on  the  paper,  and  to  this  my  people  with 
characteristic  generosity  consented. 

The  bulk  of  the  editorial  work  fell  on  me  and  I  carried 
the  burden  in  connection  with  the  cares  of  my  great 
pastorate  for  three  years.  I  found  duty  and  pleasure 
combined  in  that  phase  of  Christian  service  but  I  could 
not  find  it  possible  to  continue  the  double  duty  any 
longer,  nor  was  I  willing  to  quit  my  pastorate,  and  so  I 
went  out  of  that  editorial  work.  Immediately  I  became 
correspondent  of  a  number  of  papers  in  the  several 
sections  of  our  country  and  wrote  almost  as  much  as 
when  I  was  editor.  I  became  editor  of  the  Baltimore 
Baptist  also  and  served  in  that  capacity  for  quite  a 
number  of  years.  Later  on  I  became  associate  editor  of 
what  is  now  The  Bajytist  World  of  Louisville,  a  noble 
paper  with  a  mission  distinctively  its  own,  and  with  a 
constituency  extending  into  every  leading  country  of  the 
world.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  add  that  covering  nearly  all 
of  the  years  of  this  editorial  work  I  have  been  associated 


WORK  IN  COLLEGES  273 

with  the  editorial  i)ro(iuctiou  of  our  Sunday-school 
literature  in  the  South,  working  without  intermission  in 
that  department  of  our  denominational  enterprises  for 
nearly  twenty  years. 

A  sentence  may  also  be  added  to  the  effect  that  in  the 
meanwhile  I  had  become  the  author  of  several  books 
whose  names  and  purposes  need  no  mention  here.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  speak  one  syllable  in  commenda- 
tion of  anything  that  I  have  ever  done  ;  for  nothing  that 
I  have  ever  done  has  satisfied  me  and  everything  that  I 
have  ever  done  has  upbraided  me  that  I  did  not  do  it 
better.  At  the  same  time  my  heart  humbles  itself  before 
the  throne  of  the  Father  that  even  at  all  I  have  been  able 
to  use  my  pen  in  the  service  of  my  fellow  men. 

In  ending  this  hasty  reference  to  my  labors  as  a  writer, 
I  might  mention  one  episode  in  my  experience  which  by 
its  singularity  seems  worthy  of  remembrance.  At  the 
close  of  the  war,  Hon.  Henry  K.  Ellyson  was  founding  a 
daily  newspaper  in  Eichmond  and  he  sent  a  messenger 
across  the  river  to  me  in  Manchester,  where  I  was  then 
pastor,  bespeaking  my  influence  in  circulating  the  paper 
in  the  town.  It  was  just  at  the  end  of  the  war  and  we 
were  all  miserably  poor,  but  it  chanced  that  I  had  just 
encumbered  myself  with  an  orphan  boy,  who  was  desper- 
ately anxious  to  escape  from  the  cotton  factory  and  to  go 
to  school,  and  as  I  had  no  way  of  providing  for  this, 
I  wrote  Mr.  Ellyson  that  if  he  would  select  the  boy  as 
his  carrier,  I'd  put  the  go  on  the  paper,  a  proposition  he 
promptly  accepted.  Thereafter,  about  once  a  week  for 
the  next  year,  a  series  of  letters  from  Manchester  ap- 
peared in  the  paper  under  the  nom  de  plume  of ' '  Struggle. ' ' 
The  author  put  herself  forth  as  a  factory  girl,  who  got 
some  education  just  before  the  war,  but  whose  fortune 
was  utterly  shattered  by  the  war,  and  who  was  reduced 


274  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

to  the  bitter  necessity  of  being  a  factory  girl.  As  about 
all  that  appeared  in  the  paper  from  Manchester  was  con- 
tained in  these  letters,  and  as  they  had  a  decidedly  crit- 
ical and  audacious  air,  and  as  almost  everybody  in 
town  was  dead  set  on  discovering  the  identity  of  the  girl, 
the  paper  took  wings  and  flew  to  a  speedy  prosperity. 
As  the  distinct  note  of  the  letters  was  dissatisfaction  with 
factory  life,  a  yet  deeper  and  more  scornful  abhorrence  of 
the  stupidities  and  disorders  of  the  town,  it  can  readily 
be  seen  that  there  was  trouble  ahead.  She  claimed  to 
send  her  letters  to  the  paper  and  have  her  mail  brought 
back  by  her  little  brother,  and  the  bridge  was  watched 
remorselessly  in  order  to  waylay  that  non-existent  little 
brother. 

Let  me  say,  however,  that  my  little  factory  lad  was  the 
go-between  in  the  matter,  and  he  kept  the  secret  with  all 
the  diplomatic  caution  of  the  star  chamber.  By  degrees 
this  writer  touched  up  the  civil  authorities  as  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  town,  got  after  the  churches,  scored  the  fac- 
tory authorities,  criticized  the  front  yards  and  the  un- 
painted  houses  of  the  people  and,  in  short,  impressed  the 
sluggish  town  with  the  belief  that  there  was  a  deadly 
enemy  abroad  in  the  community.  She  elected  a  new 
town  council,  had  quite  a  number  of  breaks  in  the  streets 
repaired,  brought  on  several  pugilistic  encounters  between 
her  friends  and  foes,  got  several  proposals  for  marriage 
of  the  most  romantic  order,  often  received  free  tickets  to 
the  theatres  and  other  entertainments  in  Eichmond,  had 
ever  so  many  snares  set  for  her  detection,  made  many  of 
my  most  intimate  friends  furiously  mad,  and  more  than 
once  made  allusion  to  me  and  my  church  so  pointed,  so 
scathing  and  once  or  twice  so  just  for  that  matter,  that  it 
was  hard  for  a  factory  girl  even  after  dark  to  walk  the 
streets  attended  by  her  brother  without  the  liability  of 
being  called  to  account. 


WOKK  IN  COLLEGES  275 

Several  months  before  I  left  the  town  to  settle  in  Balti- 
more the  correspondence  ceased,  and  so  when  I  departed 
the  authorshij)  of  the  letters  was  never  known.  There 
was  one  incident  connected  with  it  that  was  so  laughable 
that  I  venture  to  tell  it  though  the  gentleman  involved  in 
it  is  still  alive.  He  came  to  me  one  day  in  rather  an  au- 
tocratic and  patronizing  way  and  asked  me  if  I  knew 
Miss  Struggle.  My  reply  was  that  nobody  up  to  that 
time  had  satisfactorily  proved  to  me  that  the  writer  of 
those  articles  was  a  woman,  though  I  told  him  that  I 
thought  some  of  them  did  suggest  a  woman  as  their 
author.  He  said  in  reply  and  with  pomp  befitting  the 
occasion,  that  he  thought  he  could  set  my  mind  at 
rest  on  that  subject.  He  had  studied  the  matter  in  a 
painstaking  and  a  critical  way,  studying  not  the  clumsy 
facts  in  the  case,  but  the  nicer  shades,  the  unconscious 
hints  and  the  atmosphere  and  quite  a  number  of  other 
things  that  had  weight  with  literary  critics,  and  that  he 
had  decided  that  beyond  question  the  author  was  a 
woman.  I  expressed  great  satisfaction  that  he  had 
favored  me  with  an  opinion  so  nearly  authoritative  and 
which  I  thought  would  have  weight  with  people  who 
were  constantly  appealing  to  me  as  to  the  authorship  of 
the  letters.  The  incident  associated  with  those  letters 
would  make  quite  a  volume. 

After  years  had  passed,  I  was  crossing  the  bridge  with 
a  man  thoughtful  far  beyond  his  station,  who  was  an  op- 
erative in  the  factory  at  the  time  the  letters  appeared.  I 
asked  him  in  a  brusque,  offhand  way  if  the  writer  of  those 
letters  had  ever  come  to  be  known.  He  said  no,  but  that 
whoever  the  writer  was,  the  letters  had  played  the  mis- 
chief with  him,  and  he  told  me  quite  a  story.  He  said 
that  the  factory  people  were  in  a  perpetual  wrangle  over 
those  letters  and  that  he  was  one  of  the  wranglers,  and 
that  on  one  occasion  he  repelled  an  attack  upon  the 


276  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

author  for  some  criticism  made  upon  the  management  of 
the  factory.  It  seems  that  his  words  went  to  the  author- 
ities in  the  main  of&ce  and  he  was  ignominiously  fired, — 
to  use  his  phrase, — in  trying  to  defend  that  woman.  For 
a  moment  I  almost  felt  that  if  he  would  put  in  and  thrash 
me  for  getting  him  into  the  trouble,  it  might  have  brought 
me  to  repent  of  having  played  a  woman's  part  for  a  full 
year  to  the  serious  disturbance  of  belated,  ill-governed 
old  Manchester,  as  she  was  in  those  first  post-bellum 
days. 


XVIII 

NERVE  SHAKERS 

ONE  fruitful  source  of  trouble  to  me  from  my 
childhood  had  been  my  disposition  to  fall  in 
love  with  people.  My  elective  affinities  have 
been  very  powerful  but  not  always  discriminating.  I 
have  allowed  myself  to  become  attached  to  people  until  I 
actually  suffered  by  separation  from  them.  This  was 
peculiarly,  painfully  true  of  me  in  my  youth,  and  it  is 
true  even  to  the  present  time. 

When  I  went  out  at  seventeen  years  of  age  to  teach 
school,  I  was  thrown  entirely  among  strangers — many  of 
them  rude  in  manner,  limited  in  knowledge,  weak  in 
morals  and  destitute  of  religion,  but  in  some  way  they 
were  very  gracious  to  me  and  in  a  little  while  they  seemed 
to  grow  into  my  very  life.  Even  those  who  were  eccen- 
tric, unsociable,  quick  to  anger  and  grossly  selfish,  inter- 
ested me  and  it  cut  to  the  centre  of  life  when  I  had  to 
separate  from  them.  My  heart  always  insisted  on  keep- 
ing up  its  connections  with  them,  and,  though  some  of 
them  perhaps  soon  enough  forgot  me,  I  remember  almost 
every  one  of  them  and  have  had  their  children  and  their 
grandchildren  on  my  hands  ever  since.  With  ever  so 
many  of  their  posterity  I  have  had  some  part  in  watch- 
ing and  in  shaping  their  career.  I  must  give  at  least  one 
case,  which  will  serve  the  double  purpose  of  showing  how 
a  half- forgotten  tie  of  friendship  may  suddenly  become  an 
important  factor  in  a  man's  conversion,  and  also  how  a 
most  pitiable  failure  in  preaching  sometimes  becomes  the 

277 


2T8  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

human  force  in  God' stands  through  which  He  saves  those 
who  are  far  away. 

When  I  was  in  about  my  middle  life,  I  went  up  to  a 
meeting  in  my  native  county  of  Bedford.  At  that  time  I 
was  not  only  a  pastor  in  Richmond,  but  I  was  editor  of 
the  EeUgious  Herald^  and  my  visit  was  largely  in  the  in- 
terest of  that  paper.  They  had  a  kindly  way  of  always 
putting  me  up  to  preach  whenever  they  caught  me  within 
the  boundaries  of  that  county,  but  this  time  I  was  to  be 
there  but  one  day  and  a  half,  and  I  wrung  from  the  com- 
mittee a  promise  that  they  would  excuse  me  from  giving 
a  sermon,  as  I  would  be  much  absorbed  with  other  things. 
When  I  arrived  at  the  church  the  next  morning,  the 
committee  collared  me  on  the  spot.  Apologetically,  but 
very  firmly,  they  told  me  that  several  of  the  other  minis- 
ters present  had  disappointed  them  and  they  felt  con- 
strained to  come  back  on  me.  I  saw  their  situation,  and 
yet,  owing,  I  suppose,  to  much  unconquered  badness,  still 
existent  in  me,  I  was  rather  rebellious  and  resistant.  But 
I  never  did  have  much  stability  when  I  came  to  deal 
with  an  appeal  for  me  to  preach,  and  so  I  consented — not 
gracefully  but  grudgingly.  I  had  quite  an  angry  spot 
somewhere  in  the  invisible  domain  of  my  anatomy. 

There  was  a  preaching  stand  erected  in  a  little  grove, 
the  arrangements  being  about  as  rude  and  inconvenient 
as  human  folly  could  make  them.  The  horses  and  mules 
and  hundreds  of  people  were  packed  in  the  woods  ad- 
jacent to  the  ''Arbor,"  which  was  the  name  for  the 
preaching  place.  The  excited  neighing  of  the  horses,  the 
discordant  grumblings  of  the  mules,  the  squeals  of  the 
colts,  the  bark  of  the  dogs  and  the  hum  and  clatter  of  the 
crowd,  made  the  situation  unbearable  to  me.  Then,  too, 
never  in  my  life  did  I  see  a  more  apathetic  or  indifferent 
multitude  of  people.  They  sauntered  in  and  perched 
themselves  on  the  back  benches,  or  took  their  stand 


KERVE  SHAKERS  279 

around,  many  of  tliem  chatting  and  laughing,  some  of 
them,  disheartened  by  the  sight  of  things,  pulled  out  and 
left,  young  boys,  with  summer  flowers  around  their  hats 
and  their  sweethearts  hanging  on  their  arms,  marched  in, 
laughing  and  blinking,  and  then,  after  a  few  minutes, 
suddenly  sprang  up  and  careered  away.  We  had  no  good 
arrangements  for  the  singing, "and  I  can  hardly  remember 
more  languid  spasms  of  music  than  those  that  were 
drawled  out  that  day. 

Truly,  I  was  depressed  to  the  level  of  despair.  I  felt 
that  neither  earth  nor  heaven  cared  for  me,  and  I  was  not 
very  far  from  feeling  that  I  did  not  care  much  for  them. 
I  was  on  the  verge  of  doubting  whether  I  had  ever  been 
called  to  preach  and  of  regretting  that  I  had  ever  con- 
sented to  do  it.  I  drove  the  order  of  exercises  through 
under  whip  and  spur  and  felt  thoroughly  that  it  was  a 
ruined  occasion — one  circumstantially  impossible.  I 
selected  a  sermon  which  on  other  occasions  I  had  pre- 
sented with  satisfactory  effects,  but  it  looked  to  me  as  if 
it  had  lost  every  throb  of  its  life.  The  words  fairly  hung 
in  my  teeth  and  what  I  said  made  me  sick  by  the  very 
stupidity  and  emptiness  of  my  saying  it.  So  far  as  I  could 
see  (I  must  have  been  almost  blind  with  humiliation 
and  shame),  not  one  person  seemed  to  be  listening.  I  was 
interrupted  by  several  dog  fights  and  the  restlessness  of 
the  babies,  some  of  them  crying  to  the  last  pitch  of  their 
lungs,  and  not  a  few  people,  with  disgust  deep  written  on 
their  faces,  dropped  asleep  or  ignominiously  forsook  me. 
The  only  gleam  of  comfort  I  had  was  when  I  quit.  As 
my  sermon  ended  I  struck  the  doxology  and  sang  it 
principally  as  a  solo,  and  then  I  struck  for  the  convey- 
ance which  was  to  take  me  to  my  train. 

That  was  the  supremely  misanthropic  moment  of  my 
life.  The  temptation  struggled  mightily  within  me  to 
commit  myself  by  a  solemn  vow  to  heaven  that  I  would 


280  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

never  put  my  foot  on  Bedford  soil  again.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  it  would  alwaj^s  be  impossible  for  me  ever  to  meet 
my  kith  and  my  friends  of  old  Bedford  any  more.  When 
the  train  rolled  up  and  I  sprang  in  and  we  went  rat- 
tling away,  I  felt  like  an  escaped  convict  who  was  enter- 
ing uiDon  a  flight  with  no  thought  of  ever  returning. 

That  anything  could  have  been  accomplished  by  that 
service  or  sermon  never  for  one  moment  dawned  upon 
my  mind  and  for  about  six  months  every  reminder  of 
that  disaster  at  the  Old  Timber  Eidge  Church  stabbed 
my  soul  with  deadly  pain.  But  about  that  time  a  soli- 
tary ray  of  light,  sweet  as  heaven  itself,  flashed  upon  me, 
and  it  came  in  a  letter  from  a  plain  old  country 
preacher,  Eev.  James  A.  Davis,  in  which  he  said  that  he 
had  something  to  tell  me  which  would  probably  do  me 
good. 

He  said,  ^'  You  will  probably  remember  a  boy  that  you 
used  to  know  in  the  mountains,  by  the  name  of  Henry 
Welch.  He  was  then  a  poor  boy,  working  with  his 
father  and,  while  he  did  not  go  to  school  to  you,  you 
knew  him  and  he  never  forgot  you." 

He  related  further  that  this  Mr.  Welch  was  now  a  very 
prominent  and  prosperous  farmer  in  the  neighborhood  of 
one  of  his  churches  and  that  on  the  Saturday  before  his 
writing,  Mr.  Welch  gave  a  great  surprise  by  coming  be- 
fore the  church  and  asking  for  baptism,  and  when  he  was 
requested  to  give  some  account  of  his  conversion  he  made 
the  following  statement : 

''For  a  long  time  I  had  entirely  given  up  going  to 
church  and  really  had  ceased  to  give  thought  to  religious 
things.  During  last  summer  I  found  it  necessary  one 
morning  to  ride  down  to  the  court-house  to  see  a  lawyer 
on  a  matter  of  business  which  demanded  immediate  at- 
tention. When  I  went  to  the  lawyer's  of&ce,  I  was  in- 
formed that  he  had  gone  down  to  the  Strawberry  Associa- 


NERVE  SHAKERS  281 

tiou  at  tlie  Timber  Eidge  Church,  and  so  great  was  my 
auxiety  to  see  him  that  I  decided  to  drive  dowu  to  the 
church.  As  I  drove  up  into  the  church  grounds,  some 
one  came  along,  crying  the  announcement  that  there  would 
be  preaching  at  the  stand  in  the  grove  and  that  every- 
body was  requested  to  attend.  I  asked  who  was  going  to 
preach  and  the  reply  was  ^  Dr.  Hatcher,'  and  I  asked, 
^  What  Hatcher?'  and  they  told  me  that  it  was  William 
E.  H.itcher.  That  was  the  youth  that  I  had  known  in  the 
mountains  a  quarter  of  a  century  before  and  he  had  never 
crossed  my  path  since.  More  to  see  him  than  to  hear 
him,  I  plodded  my  way  to  the  stand  and  took  my  seat. 
I  don't  remember  very  much  about  the  sermon,  but  I 
know  that  something  in  it  struck  my  heart  and  put  it  to 
aching.  It  fretted  me  and  I  tried  to  wear  it  off,  but  I 
could  never  drive  it  out  of  me.  It  was  like  a  nail  in  my 
foot — always  there  and  hurting  me  every  step  I  took.  It 
has  conquered  me  at  last  and  brought  me  to  humble  my- 
self before  God,  to  seek  His  grace  and  to  accept  His  yoke. 
I  feel  that  I  ought  to  be  baptized  and  be  an  open  friend 
of  Him  who  has  done  so  much  for  me." 

It  always  thrills  me  in  every  nerve  and  tissue  of  my  be- 
ing to  know  that  I  have  helped  anybody  into  the  king- 
dom of  God,  but  in  this  case  it  was  the  unexpectedness  of 
the  thing.  It  seemed  well-nigh  incredible  that  even  the 
weakest  should  have  been  touched  by  any  arrow  that 
flew  from  my  bow  on  that  miserable  day  at  Timber 
Eidge  ;  but  to  hear  that  a  man,  advanced  in  life,  long 
hardened  in  wrong-doing,  should  have  been  so  power- 
fully influenced  by  that  sermon,  did  me  a  miracle  of 
good.  I  lived  on  bad  terms  with  myself  for  many  days 
afterwards  for  having  been  such  a  fool  as  not  to  be  will- 
ing to  preach  on  that  occasion,  and  for  having  been  so 
idiotic  as  to  imagine  that  men  were  to  be  converted  by 
the  power  of  my  preaching  rather  than  by  its  weakness 


282  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

as  energized  by  the  power  of  God.  I  made  one  vow  when 
this  news  came  that  I  have  not  found  it  hard  to  keep, 
and  that  is,  always  to  preach  when  the  opportunity 
opens  and  without  the  slightest  regard  to  the  circum- 
stances under  which  the  preaching  is  to  be  done. 

About  fourteen  years  after  that  Timber  Eidge  tragedy, 
I  was  in  quite  a  distant  part  of  Virginia  when  I  was  in- 
troduced to  a  young  man  who  seemed  to  be  peculiarly 
affected  by  the  meeting.  He  and  his  brother  had  just 
bought  some  property  and  were  getting  ready  to  open  an 
academy,  and,  after  he  greeted  me,  he  asked  if  I  would 
be  willing  to  go  with  him  to  the  library  room  of  the  new 
building  ;  and  this,  though  I  was  hurried,  I  readily  agreed 
to  do.  There  he  introduced  me  to  his  brother.  They 
both  seemed  to  be  under  an  unusual  strain  of  emotion, 
and  presently  they  told  me  that  their  meeting  of  me  was 
what  they  had  long  desired,  and  that  because  they  had 
something  of  deepest  interest  to  them  which  they  desired 
to  say  to  me.  They  quite  embarrassed  me  by  their 
enigmatical  and  emotional  manner  of  speech,  but  when 
they  spoke  it  was  to  the  point.  They  said  to  me  that 
they  had  seen  me  before,  when  one  of  them  was  sixteen 
and  the  other  fourteen.  They  added  that  it  was  at  the 
Timber  Ridge  Church  in  Bedford  County,  Ya.,  that  they 
went  to  the  stand  to  hear  preaching  and  that  I  delivered 
the  sermon,  and  that  under  that  sermon  both  of  them 
were  happily  converted. 

After  all.  Timber  Ridge  began  to  take  on  a  sacred  in- 
terest and  to  hold  for  me  some  memories  that  were  not 
born  to  die. 

Yet  later  on,  at  a  great  public  gathering  in  that  county, 
I  had  the  pleasant  surprise  of  meeting  Henry  Welch.  It 
was  out  in  the  great  churchyard,  crowded  with  a  multi- 
tude and  with  the  men  and  women  talking  all  about.  It 
so  chanced  that  when  Mr.  Welch  and  myself  were  brought 


NERVE  SHAKERS  283 

together,  there  were  several  standing  around,  and  when 
Mr.  Welch  expressed  his  joy  in  meeting  me  and  spoke 
of  his  conversion  at  Timber  Eidge,  a  man,  who  did  not 
seem  to  know  either  of  us,  rushed  forward. 

* '  What  is  that  you  said  about  being  converted  under  a 
sermon  delivered  by  Dr.  Hatcher  at  Timber  Ridge?  '^ 

Mr.  Welch,  of  course,  repeated  the  fact  and  the  man 
said,  '*  Why,  that  same  thing  happened  to  me  ;  I  heard 
that  sermon  and  it  was  under  the  impressions  which  it 
made  upon  me  that  I  was  brought  to  Christ." 

These  experiences,  so  uulooked  for,  so  full  of  reproach 
for  me  on  account  of  my  lack  of  zeal  and  of  faith  and  yet 
so  rich  in  the  profits  of  grace,  seem  almost  too  sacred  to 
tell ;  my  impulses  really  would  be  to  hide  these  precious 
stories  in  my  own  heart  and  use  them  to  comfort  and  em- 
bolden me  when  I  feel  unfitted  for  the  pulpit.  They  are 
told  here,  as  heaven  knows,  in  a  humble  and  self- con- 
demning spirit,  but  told  that  they  may  show  that  God 
has  ordained  by  the  weak  things  to  confound  the  mighty 
and  to  magnify  His  power. 

I  ought  to  say  outright  that  I  have  never  been  an  evan- 
gelist ;  the  bulk  of  my  life  has  been  spent  in  the  pastor- 
ate, in  my  judgment  the  loftiest  phase  of  the  Christian 
ministry,  but  through  the  indulgence  of  my  churches  and 
sometimes,  I  dare  say,  my  defiant  hard-headedness,  I 
have  had  the  privilege  of  helping  many  pastors  in  their 
revival  meetings. 

Of  course  no  man  can  speak  indiscriminately  of  Chris- 
tian ministers.  Their  differences  in  native  gifts,  culture, 
energy,  taste  and  influence  are  so  marked  a/id  varied 
that  any  general  opinion  expressed  about  the  ministry 
must  amount  to  comparatively  little.  I  can  say,  how- 
ever, that  my  experience  with  Christian  ministers  forbids 
my  having  the  smallest  sympathy  with  those  unaffiliated. 


284  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

liigh-strainiDg  and  i)essimistic  preachers  who  are  ever 
quick  to  utter  their  iliads  of  woe  as  to  the  decay  of  the 
Christian  ministry.  I  have  not  found  it  so.  No  words 
can  express  my  reverence  and  affection  for  Christian  min- 
isters, and  I  can  truly  say  that  of  those  with  whom  I  have 
been  brought  in  contact  who  have  proved  uncongenial 
and  obstructive,  there  have  been  fewer  than  I  could 
count  on  the  fingers  of  my  two  hands.  There  have  been 
some  whose  temperament,  theological  views  and  tastes 
have  put  quite  a  broad  intermediate  territory  between 
them  and  me,  but  even  in  those  cases  where  the  points 
of  disagreement  were  sharpest,  I  did  not  lose  my  confi- 
dence in  their  integrity  nor  have  to  use  my  charity  in 
cloaking  their  faults. 

I  did  have  one  experience  that  brought  me  a  racking 
strain.  I  was  invited  to  a  very  prominent  and  influential 
church  to  hold  revival  services,  and  that  under  peculiar 
circumstances.  Some  of  the  leading  members  of  the 
church  knew  me,  but  the  pastor  did  not.  He  yielded 
amiably  to  the  wishes  of  his  brethren  to  have  me.  He 
was  a  brother  of  great  learning  and  of  theological  views 
so  advanced  that  they  had  gotten  out  of  sight  of  my  doc- 
trinal opinions.  I  found  the  atmosphere  quite  frosty 
upon  my  arrival,  and  my  first  meeting  with  the  pastor, 
while  courtly  and  hospitable  on  his  part,  was  not  notably 
enthusiastic,  and  I  was  dimly  conscious  that  my  first  ser- 
mons signally  failed  to  warm  his  heart  or  to  draw  us  very 
closely  together. 

It  must  be  frankly  said,  however,  that  his  bearing 
towards  me  did  not  foreshadow  the  seriousness  of  an  in- 
terview which  came  on  between  us  later,  and  which  I 
must  say  was  rendered  all  the  more  embarrassing  because 
we  were  on  the  way  to  his  house  at  the  time.  He  did 
seem  to  feel  some  sorrow  that  he  had  to  say  to  me  what 
he  was  about  to  say,  but  the  sorrow  was  not  of  that  pun- 


NERVE  SHAKERS  285 

geut  sort  that  restrained  him  from  a  candor  which  was 
decidedly  admirable  in  its  courage.  He  told  me  that  he 
had  heard  me  in  several  services,  and  he  felt  constrained 
to  tell  me  that  my  method  of  theological  statement  was 
not  adapted  to  his  congregation— that  the  old  dogmatic 
way  of  stating  the  Gospel  was  effete  and  had  lost  its 
power,  and  that  he  could  not  see  any  outlook  for  the 
meeting. 

I  told  him  with  utmost  good  humor  that  I  had  evidently 
been  brought  there  under  a  misapprehension,  and  as  he 
had  not  seen  or  heard  me  before  I  came,  I  readily  ac- 
quitted him  of  all  blame  for  whatever  had  been  done. 
I  said  to  him  also  that  it  would  be  altogether  impossible 
for  me  to  recast  my  theology  or  my  methods  of  doctrinal 
statement,  so  as  to  fit  into  his  meeting,  and  that  we  would 
have  to  face  the  question  as  to  what  ought  to  be  done,  and 
that  I  would  cordially  leave  it  to  him  to  decide  the  ques- 
tion, assuring  him  that  if  he  deemed  it  best  for  me  to  go 
away,  that  if  my  going  would  save  him  from  embarrass- 
ment so  far  as  I  was  concerned  (meaning  of  course  that 
there  should  be  no  gossip  about  it),  then  I  would  withdraw 
as  soon  as  it  could  be  quietly  done. 

He  left  it  to  me,  evidently  supposing  that  I  would  bow 
myself  out.  The  outlook  of  the  meeting  was  not  favorable 
except  that  the  congregations  were  growing  rapidly,  and 
when  I  got  away  from  my  candid  and  frigid  brother,  I 
fell  back  on  my  old  theology  and  concluded  that  I  would 
talk  with  the  Lord  about  it,  and  I  was  old-fashioned 
enough  to  tell  my  Divine  Master  that  I  was  in  a  predica- 
ment. I  told  Him  that  the  Gospel  that  I  had  been 
preaching  had  worked  moderately  well  where  I  had  gone 
along,  and  that  I  would  be  wonderfully  glad  to  try  it  right 
there — indeed,  to  put  it  on  its  mettle  and  see  whether  it 
had  lost  its  power,  telling  Him  of  course  that  if  it  was  His 
will  that  I  should  beat  a  retreat,  to  sound  His  trumpet 


286  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

and  I  would  take  to  my  heels.  I  preached  about  three 
uights  afterwards,  and  determined  to  make  a  test  of  the 
congregation.  I  told  them  that  there  had  been  no  fruits 
during  the  meeting,  and  no  special  responsiveness  so  far 
as  I  could  see,  and  if  there  was  none  I  wanted  to  know  it. 
I  would  come  down  out  of  the  pulpit  and  ask  those 
who  felt  a  living  sympathy  with  my  ministrations  and 
with  the  meeting  to  walk  up  and  tell  me  so.  It  brought 
an  almost  eternal  pause,  but  presently  they  began  to 
come,  and  they  came  by  the  hundred,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  hand-shake  I  called  for  confessions  of  Christ,  and  a 
number  of  men  came.  It  is  due  to  the  pastor  to  say  that 
he  sat  on  the  front  bench  about  six  feet  from  me  and  made 
no  response  to  my  invitation,  neither  before  nor  after  the 
benediction.  I  think  that  he  was  rarely  on  the  pulpit 
when  I  preached.  We  had  an  inquirers'  meeting  every 
day,  and  before  the  meeting  closed  there  were  hundreds 
of  inquirers,  but  he  never  attended  the  meetings.  We 
had  also  an  afternoon  prayer-meeting  which  if  I  remem- 
ber aright  he  attended  occasionally,  and  when  I  left  I  re- 
call no  word  of  approval  or  good-bye  which  was  uttered 
by  the  pastor.  I  can  say  with  all  truth  that  I  harbored 
no  resentment  against  the  pastor.  I  believed  that  we 
were  so  far  apart  intellectually  and  temperamentally  that 
he  was  thoroughly  sincere,  and  besides  I  was  so  inexiDress- 
ibly  thankful  to  the  Lord  that  He  did  not  have  quite  so 
mean  an  opinion  of  me  as  the  pastor  did,  I  walked 
the  mountain  tops.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  ever  had  such 
strength  and  bliss  as  that  meeting  brought  me,  though  I 
think  I  might  have  enjoyed  it  a  fraction  more  if  there  had 
been  just  a  few  others  who  knew  what  had  passed  between 
the  pastor  and  myself.  Let  me  add  that  some  time  after- 
wards I  went  back  and  preached  a  plain,  old-time  experi- 
mental sermon  at  the  same  place  and  in  the  hearing  of 
the  pastor,  and  after  it  was  over  he  came  and  said  some 


NERVE  SHAKERS  287 

of  the  most  gracious  things  about  the  sermon,  expressing 
his  assured  belief  that  it  would  be  of  great  service  to  the 
people.  Then,  perhaps  a  dozen  years  afterwards,  I 
preached  again  in  his  presence  and  preached  with  little 
change  in  my  doctrinal  standpoint  or  in  my  method  of 
expression,  and  at  that  time  also  he  was  kind  enough  to 
say  some  things  which  I  think  I  would  not  characterize 
favorably  enough  by  calling  them  compliments. 

I  think  we  got  closer  together  through  the  lax)sing  years. 
His  candor  did  me  actual  good,  though  I  could  hardly 
imagine  that  my  simple  preaching  could  have  had  much 
in  it  to  enrich  his  lofty  and  scholarly  life.  Possibly  our 
paths,  as  they  were  coming  nearer  to  the  eternal  world, 
were  getting  closer  together,  and  closer  to  the  Redeemer, 
and  in  those  good  ways  bringing  us  closer  to  each  other. 

In  my  early  ministry  I  was  invited  to  assist  quite  a  dis- 
tinguished country  pastor  in  a  revival  meeting.  He  was 
a  Christian  by  grace  and  an  autocrat  by  blood.  He  was 
an  ecclesiastical  satrap  in  his  part  of  the  kingdom,  a  man 
of  decided  strength,  an  old-time  theologian,  and  had  lit- 
tle respect  for  any  preaching  that  did  not  take  up  solidly 
some  cardinal  doctrine  and  hammer  it  until  the  sparks 
flew.  The  meeting  began  on  Sunday  morning,  the  house 
was  large  and  the  congregation  overflowing,  and  I,  a  light- 
weight at  best,  preached  two  sermons  that  evidently  went 
well  with  the  simple  and  untheological  people.  That 
evening  he  took  me  home  with  him,  and  we  had  scarcely 
driven  out  of  the  churchyard  before  he  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  my  preaching  was  not  according  to  his  taste  ; 
it  lacked  body,  doctrinal  vigor,  and  was  not  sufficiently 
instructive.  His  candor  was  decidedly  caustic,  and  I 
felt  a  faintness  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  my 
vitalities.  I  rallied  presently  and  commenced  telling  him 
that  his  fame  as  a  theologian  and  his  power  as  a  doctrinal 


288  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

teacher  had  reached  me  quite  a  while  ago  ;  that  I  knew 
that  I  could  not  equal  him  in  his  own  department,  and 
that  I  had  decided  to  let  my  preaching  run  along  hortatory 
and  persuasive  lines.  That  quieted  him,  and  I  flattered 
myself  that  I  had  disiDOsed  of  him  in  a  very  sagacious  and 
effective  fashion. 

Before  the  meeting  was  over  it  broke  very  fully  upon 
me,  and  under  conditions  never  to  be  forgotten,  that  his 
opinion  of  my  performance  was  in  no  way  modified.  A 
fine  old  gentleman  of  the  neighborhood,  with  a  magnificent 
home  and  proud  of  his  hospitality,  invited  quite  a  num- 
ber of  ministers  who  were  attending  the  meeting  to  spend 
the  night  at  his  house.  When  bedtime  came,  the  pastor 
and  a  modest  and  lovely  neighboring  pastor  and  myself 
were  put  in  the  same  room.  There  was  a  bed  of  good 
standing  and  a  pallet  on  the  floor.  The  authority  of  the 
lordly  pastor  decreed  that  he  and  I  were  to  occupy  the 
bed  and  the  brother  of  low  degree  was  to  betake  himself 
to  the  pallet.  In  due  season  things  were  quiet  and,  if 
I  was  not  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  great  or  the  just,  I 
was  doing  full  time  on  the  sleep  of  the  fatigued.  Sud- 
denly I  was  awakened  by  finding  the  pastor  clambering 
over  my  knees  in  rather  a  pitiless  way  and  with  the 
evident  intention  of  leaving  the  bed.  I  was  partially 
awakened  but  my  tongue  did  not  wake  up.  To  my  sur- 
prise my  critical  master  turned  in  with  the  brother  on 
the  floor.  Why,  I  did  not  know,  but  I  was  not  unwilling. 
Gradually  by  means  of  nudges  and  calls  he  wakened  the 
hero  of  the  pallet  and  they  fell  into  a  subdued  conversa- 
tion—that is,  the  good  pastor  fell  to  talking  and  the 
other  brother  lay  listening.  The  conversation  circled 
around  until  finally  there  was  a  pause — rather  a  long  one 
— and  then  I  heard  him  ask,  ''How  do  you  like  the 
preacher?  "  At  once  my  ears  pricked  up  ;  things  were 
getting  interesting  j   the  topic  was  one  that  I  had  not 


NERVE  SHAKERS  289 

often  heard  discussed,  and  so  all  my  ears  went  on  duty. 
This  plain  man  of  God  of  the  rural  charge  was  no  critic 
and  loved  everybody  and  kept  his  feelings  in  reach  of 
any  touch  the  Gosj^el  might  have  for  them.  The  meet- 
ing had  assumed  great  proportions,  and  numbers  were 
converted  every  day,  and  this  unthinking  brother  was 
stupid  enough  to  think  that  the  preacher  under  discus- 
sion almost  amounted  to  a  wonder.  He  broke  into  a 
flood  of  commendation  and  praise  of  the  young  preacher 
—all  of  which  I  heard,  but  with  what  feeling  I  heard  it,  is 
not  to  be  told  at  this  point.  When  he  finished,  as  he 
felt  sure  that  he  was  pleasing  his  illustrious  ministerial 
friend  at  his  side,  he  asked  him  in  great  eagerness  how 
he  liked  the  preacher.  There  was  a  long  silence — a 
silence  so  freezing  that  it  could  produce  icicles  in  August. 
Presently  and  in  stumbling  and  regretful  tones  he  an- 
nounced his  sore  and  bitter  disappointment.  He  did  say 
that  the  young  man  seemed  to  be  good  and  to  mean  well 
but  he  was  a  pitiable  failure  as  a  preacher  and  he  seemed 
almost  ready  to  repeat  by  memory  some  of  the  leading 
lamentations  of  Jeremiah. 

I  was  there,  at  least  what  was  left  of  the  wreck,  and 
very  much  embarrassed.  I  had  not  intended  to  hear  the 
conversation,  and  I  felt  that  it  would  not  be  best  to  let  it 
be  known  that  I  was  taking  it  in  as  it  came,  and  so  I  re- 
mained silent.  To  the  modest  preacher  who,  in  the 
frailty  of  his  judgment,  had  made  the  mistake  of  exalt- 
ing me  to  honors  of  which  I  was  so  unworthy,  it  seemed 
well-nigh  a  sin  against  light  and  knowledge  to  disagree 
with  his  strong  and  regnant  critic,  but  he  was  not  utterly 
routed.  He  made  a  faint  response  in  which  he  patched 
up  his  argument  and  supported  his  judgment  by  quoting 
some  quite  eulogistic  remarks  that  had  been  uttered  in 
my  honor  by  men  of  note.  To  this  there  was  a  short, 
incisive  reply. 


290  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

^'I  would  not  injure  the  young  fellow  and  lie  may  im- 
prove later  on, '  ^  lie  said,  and  then  he  brought  up  several 
men  by  no  means  noted  for  pulpit  power  and  mournfully 
decreed  that  I  was  not  to  be  mentioned  the  same  day  in 
comparison  with  them.  If  I  judge  myself  aright,  I  was 
not  in  the  least  angry  or  resentful  under  the  pitiless  fusil- 
lade under  which  I  had  been  compelled  to  lie  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Indeed,  I  was  painfully  sensible 
that  there  was  a  strain  of  justice  in  what  he  said  and  that 
restrained  me.  I  did  myself  the  kindness  to  take  another 
nap  and  the  next  morning  I  told  a  good  friend  about  it 
and  asked  if  it  would  not  be  better  for  me,  in  the  interest 
of  the  meeting,  quietly  and  courteously  to  withdraw,  but 
he  told  me  that  the  meeting  was  to  close  at  the  end  of 
two  more  days  and  strongly  urged  me  to  remain.  This 
I  did  and  was  unspeakably  grateful  that  at  the  close  of 
the  meeting,  which  lasted  six  days,  I  saw  the  pastoi  bap- 
tize forty-two  converts. 

I  left  on  Saturday  morning  and  travelled  forty  miles  in 
a  buggy,  harboring  in  my  bosom  as  I  went  a  rather  re- 
sentful conviction  that,  whatever  the  pastor  might  think 
of  my  preaching,  it  was  hardly  worth  while  for  him 
to  wake  up  people  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  in 
order  to  convince  them  that  I  could  not  preach,  and  I 
must  add  that  on  that  return  home  in  that  long  ride  in 
the  old  country  buggy  I  had  one  of  the  most  desperate 
chills  that  ever  shook  a  languid  and  attenuated  frame,  but 
whether  that  chill  was  a  contribution  to  my  system  from 
that  malarial  section,  or  whether  it  was  attributable  to 
the  downfall  of  my  ministerial  reputation,  I  never  under- 
took to  decide. 

Several  years  afterwards  I  wrote  an  article  for  our 
denominational  paper  on  ''Elder  Grudge"  and  set  him 
up  as  a  man  with  an  acrid  taste  in  his  mouth,  as  usually 
out  of  joint  with  the  bent  and  wish  of  his  people  and  as  a 


NERVE  SHAKERS  291 

little  crooked  in  his  criticisms  of  Ms  weaker  brethren.  I 
gave  a  distinct  account  of  that  same  revival  and  had  my- 
self come  into  the  scene  as  Rev.  Mr.  Simplex,  who  helped 
Elder  Grudge  in  his  meeting  and  heard  the  conversation 
on  the  pallet.  I  was  living  out  of  Virginia  at  that  time, 
and  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  the  story  under  its  new 
dress  would  be  recognized.  Several  years  still  later  on, 
I  met  at  one  of  our  denominational  conventions  the 
brother  who  occupied  the  pallet,  and  who  had  made  the 
grievous  mistake  of  telling  the  wrong  man  that  I  could 
preach.  He  was  overwhelmed  with  embarrassment ;  he 
broke  out  in  a  tempest  of  apologies  and  expressed  the 
utmost  surprise  that  I  spoke  to  him  at  all.  In  his  con- 
fusion he  asked  me  if  I  would  go  apart  and  hear  him  for 
a  minute  or  two,  for  we  were  in  a  large  room  where  there 
was  a  crowd  of  chattering  ministers.  When  we  had  gotten 
into  a  quiet  corner,  he  again  overwhelmed  me  with 
apologies,  but  I  assured  him  that  he  had  said  nothing  that 
I  could  possibly  be  offended  at,  and  that  I  would  not  have 
been  offended  if  he  had  uttered  a  different  opinion  as  to 
my  ministerial  capabilities.  That  did  not  satisfy  him  in 
the  least.  He  said  that  through  all  the  years  that  had 
passed,  he  had  constantly  accused  himself  of  being  un- 
manly and  unbrotherly  towards  me,  because  he  did  not 
resent  in  an  outspoken  way  what  he  regarded  as  an  un- 
warranted attack  upon  me.  I  blew  his  sorrows  away 
with  assurances  of  good  will  and  favor,  and  in  time  re- 
stored him  to  his  wonted  serenity  and  content. 

Just  then  another  minister  walked  up  and  marched 
into  the  conversation.  I  finally  demanded  to  know  of 
the  brother  as  to  how  he  found  out  that  I  heard  the  con- 
versation that  night  on  the  pallet.  The  question  brought 
something  like  relief.  The  new  arrival  on  the  scene, 
himself  a  devout  and  lovely  minister,  said  that  a  few 
days  after  the  pallet  incident  Brother  D ,  the  occu- 


292  ALOXG  THE  TRAIL 

paut  of  tlie  pallet  that  night,  came  over  to  his  house  and 
told  him  what  took  place  and  expressed  unspeakable 
regret  that  it  had  occurred.  He  said  also  that  two  or 
three  years  after  that,  when  the  article  about  Brother 
Grudge  appeared,  he  read  it  and,  putting  the  paper  in 
his  pocket,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  over  to  see 

Brother  D and  said  to  him,  ''  He  knows  all  about  it ; 

he  has  got  it  right  here  in  the  paper. ' '  All  of  us  had  a 
free  laugh.     Before  we  parted  we  were  on  the  best  of 

terms  and  I  found  that  Brother  D had  suffered  far 

more  from  the  incident  than  I  had,  and  was  glad  to  find 
me  in  a  hapiDy  mood. 

Years  afterwards  I  got  on  a  train  one  afternoon,  going 
to  a  meeting  in  the  country,  and  when  I  entered  the  car 
and  was  taking  my  seat,  I  was  greatly  surprised  to  recog- 
nize my  satrap ic  critic  just  in  the  seat  behind  mine.  He 
dealt  me  a  bow  at  long  range  and  shrank  into  retirement. 
When  I  left  the  train  where  I  expected  to  be  met,  it  was 
cloudy  and  raining ;  it  was  sundown  and  gloomy,  and 
there  was  not  a  mortal  there  to  meet  me,  and  not  a  house 
whose  door  I  could  hope  would  be  open  to  me.  To  my 
surprise  my  satrap  of  pallet  fame  got  off  the  train  when 
I  did,  and  evidently  enough  he  was  not  met  and  there 
was  nobody  there  to  take  charge  of  him.  He  did  some 
of  the  most  solitary  and  despondent  walking  up  and 
down  the  track  that  I  ever  witnessed,  and  the  grim  ap- 
prehension cut  into  me  that  possibly  he  and  I  might  have 
a  night  together,  fighting  mosquitoes,  inhaliug  malaria, 
without  supper,  and  with  vast  moral,  social  and  psycho- 
logical distances  between  us.  About  that  time  there 
came  a  man  to  the  station  who  knew  me  and  he  over- 
whelmed me  with  kindness.  I  told  him  my  story  and 
he  said,  ^'I  will  get  a  hand-car  and  deliver  you  just 
exactly  where  you  want  to  go."  It  did  seem  as  if  the 
Lord  knew  how  to  look  after  His  simpletons,  of  which  I 


NERVE  SHAKERS  293 

felt  about  that  time  that  I  was  chief.  While  the  friend 
was  bringing  up  the  hand-car,  I  took  a  rather  triumphant 
look  at  the  grim  figure,  strolling  up  and  down  the  track. 
He  was  composed  principally  of  skin  and  bones,  and  I 
was  bad  enough  to  wonder  if  I  might  not  play  a  joke  on 
the  mosquitoes  of  that  swamp  by  leaving  my  haughty  and 
critical  brother  for  them  to  work  on.  There  was  some- 
thing in  me  that  was  in  favor  of  it,  but  when  my  loyal 
friend  rattled  up  on  his  car,  I  told  him  of  the  other  man 
and  he  said  we  could  crowd  him  in.  By  this  time  one  of 
the  darkest  nights  was  upon  us.  I  stepped  down  the 
track,  told  my  critic  of  the  good  fortune  that  had  befallen 
me  and  invited  him  to  share  it  and  he  accepted.  We  sat 
very  close  together  and  I  liked  the  contact.  My  some- 
what crippled  admiration  for  him  plucked  up  new  life, 
and  we  chatted  of  many  things  of  interest  to  each  of  us. 
I  took  him  into  a  home  all  ablaze  with  light,  filled  with 
friends  as  dear  as  life  to  me,  and  introduced  him  as  one 
of  the  Lord's  chieftains.  They  treated  him  well.  The 
evening  went  gloriously,  with  happy  talk  about  the  king- 
dom of  God,  with  song  and  prayer  and  abounding  hospi- 
tality. It  looked  to  me  as  if  the  floods  had  washed  out 
bad  memories  and  that  the  tie  that  bound  was  more 
blessed  than  it  had  ever  been  before. 

While  I  was  pastor  in  Richmond,  the  Culpeper  church' 
in  Virginia,  situated  in  a  town  of  possibly  two  thousand 
people,  made  a  request  of  my  church  to  send  me  to  their 
relief  for  ten  days.  They  reported  that  their  religious 
condition  was  deplorably  low  and  that  vice  and  immo- 
rality were  rampant  in  their  community.  To  this  request 
my  people  responded  favorably,  and  I  went.  The  spirit 
of  the  people  which  prompted  the  request  was  in  good 
part  a  preparation  for  a  great  revival.  I  found  upon 
arrival  that  in  an  extraordinary  degree  the  social  and 


294  ALOXG  THE  TRAIL 

business  conditions  of  the  town  were  in  strong  array 
against  the  meeting.  We  began  with  small  congrega- 
tions, were  discouraged  by  appalling  religious  apathy  in 
all  the  churches  and  all  ungodliness  was  in  open  re- 
bellion. One  peculiar  phase  of  antagonism  was  the  or- 
ganization of  what  came  to  be  known  as  ''The  Devil's 
Revival. '^  It  had  its  place  of  meeting  in  the  back  room 
of  a  prominent  store  and  numbered  among  its  supporters 
some  leading  business  men,  including  a  prominent  physi- 
cian, a  popular  merchant  and  others  equally  conspicuous 
and  aggressive.  They  all  came  to  the  meetings  at  every 
evening  service,  and  their  exercises  followed  close  on  the 
heels  of  the  services  at  the  church  and  consisted  as  nearly 
as  possible  in  a  repetition  of  everything  that  the  Chris- 
tian people  had  done.  They  sang  the  same  hymns,  prayed 
the  same  prayers  and  preached  the  same  sermons,  so  far 
as  they  were  able  to  do  so.  The  talent  of  this  irreverent 
mischief  was  very  decided,  and  it  was  said  to  have  been 
exceedingly  laughable  and  entertaining.  The  Christian 
people  were  posted  as  to  what  was  going  on,  but  they 
were  not  only  ardent  believers  in  religious  freedom  but 
in  irreligious  freedom,  so  far  as  it  operated  within  the 
lines  of  law. 

The  meeting  went  at  a  drag  speed  for  a  while,  but  one 
night  the  foremost  citizen  of  the  town  made  a  public  pro- 
fession of  his  Christian  faith.  It  came  almost  with  the 
force  of  a  cyclone,  and  the  following  night  the  two  leaders 
of  the  services  at  the  store  made  an  open  profession  of 
their  faith. 

One  of  the  most  effective  features  of  this  rival  meeting 
had  been  its  choice  and  beautiful  singing,  one  of  its 
leaders  being  a  soloist  of  extraordinary  magnetism  and 
popularity,  and  he  was  one  of  our  converts.  The  day 
after  his  conversion  I  sent  him  a  message  that  I  was 
anxious  to  see  him  about  a  matter  of  great  importance. 


NERVE  SHAKERS  295 

He  came  promptly  but  with  many  misgivings  lest  I  had 
in  store  for  him  some  withering  rebukes  for  past  mis- 
demeanors. Instead,  I  told  him  that  I  had  sent  for  him 
to  request  that  he  would  come  into  our  choir  and  that  I 
would  expect  him  to  respond  with  a  solo  whenever  I 
called  upon  him.  He  recoiled  from  the  task,  protested 
his  utter  unworthiness  and  declared  that  he  knew  no  solos 
except  those  that  he  had  sung  in  the  other  meeting.  I  told 
him  that  they  were  the  ones  that  I  especially  desired. 
That  night  he  stood  on  the  pulpit  and  sang,  ^'Almost 
Persuaded.'^  His  manner  was  modest,  his  voice  tremu- 
lous but  exceedingly  tender  ;  every  word  was  distinctly 
heard  and  the  echoes  of  that  song  went  far  and  wide.  In 
all  my  ministry  I  never  witnessed  a  meeting  whose  power 
was  more  profound,  whose  fruit  was  richer  or  whose  in- 
fluence was  more  abiding. 

During  that  meeting  a  trial  for  murder  was  in  progress 
in  the  court-house,  and  the  judge  gave  the  jury  the  privi- 
lege of  attending  the  services  at  night.  The  very  deepest 
interest  was  manifested  in  the  meeting  by  the  jurors,  and 
several  of  them  with  the  sheriff  who  had  them  in  charge 
were  among  the  converts. 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting  the  rector  of  the  Episcopal 
church  unexpectedly  arose  in  the  rear  of  the  building  and 
expressed  gratitude  for  the  meeting  ;  said  that  he  believed 
that  one-half  of  the  membership  of  his  church  had  been 
savingly  converted  under  the  influence  of  that  revival. 
It  was  intimated  to  me,  however,  that  possibly  the  un- 
converted half  made  it  so  uncomfortable  for  the  enthu- 
siastic rector  that  he  did  not  abide  much  longer. 

A  touching  episode  in  the  meeting  was  that  a  gentle- 
man arose  and  expressed  a  desire  to  give  the  facts  con- 
nected with  his  own  conversion.  This  he  did  in  a  simple, 
pictorial,  whole-hearted  fashion.  He  described  every 
step  in  the  processes  of  faith  which  led  him  to  an  accept- 


296  ALONG  THE  TEAIL 

ance  of  the  Saviour.  The  building  was  packed  with  a 
great  audience  and  I  remarked  that  the  religious  experi- 
ence just  related  was  a  jacket  about  big  enough  to  fit  a 
boy,  and  that  if  anybody  had  put  it  on  I  would  like  to  see 
him.  The  audience  room  had  galleries  on  three  sides  and 
up  in  the  end  of  the  gallery,  next  to  the  pulpit,  a  boy  got 
up  and  through  many  difficulties  picked  his  way  out 
through  the  standing  lines  of  men,  and  after  a  while,  by 
knocking,  got  the  front  door  of  the  church,  which  was 
blocked  up  with  men,  sufficiently  opened  to  slip  through, 
and  came  with  a  quiet,  manly  stej)  up  the  aisle  to  the  pul- 
int.  I  asked  him  why  he  had  come.  ''What  the  gentle- 
man said  fits  me  exactly,"  the  boy  said,  ''and  I  accept 
of  Christ  as  my  Saviour  just  as  he  did." 

"  Here  is  one  boy  that  the  jacket  fits,"  said  I,  and  up 
came  another  until  there  were  eleven  boys  who  came. 
They  were  the  sons  of  the  prominent  people  of  the  town 
and  the  sight  was  so  moving  and  the  signs  of  emotions  in 
the  audience  so  strong  that  I  dismissed  the  audience. 


XIX 

RATHER  TOO  PERSONAL 

NATUEALLY  I  was  inclined  to  sarcasm  but  my 
deepest  religious  sentiment  protested  against  it. 
I  shrank  from  it  as  a  thing  unmanly  and  even 
immoral.  Either  by  nature,  or  choice,  or  conviction,  I 
was  disposed  to  deal  graciously  with  others  in  public.  I 
felt  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  ever  attempted  to  humiliate  or 
belittle,  even  an  antagonist,  in  public,  and  though  in  my 
early  life  I  was  sometimes  guilty  of  it,  I  invariably  had  a 
bitter  time  with  my  own  reflections  afterwards. 

But  this  statement  needs  one  modification.  There  were 
many  who  delighted  to  break  a  lance  with  me  in  plat- 
form encounters,  sometimes,  I  dare  say,  as  an  amusement 
for  others  and  sometimes  in  the  hope  of  making  a 
spectacle  of  me  by  putting  me  in  awkward  positions. 
Here  my  instinct  for  retaliation  always  came  into  play. 
It  sometimes  sprang  into  the  arena  without  granting  me 
a  moment  for  forethought.  The  man  who  hit  me  I  hit, 
— not  always  wisely  and  not  always  wittily,  though  pos- 
sibly I  might  be  candid  enough  to  say  that  if  I  had  any 
success  in  public  collisions  with  others  it  was  in  the  way 
of  repartee,  and  in  speaking  thus  frankly  I  cannot  acquit 
myself  of  an  unseemly  love  of  victory.  It  really  seemed 
to  me  that  in  these  unexpected  passages  at  arms  my 
answer  was  invariably  born  of  the  attack.  It  seemed  to 
be  waiting  there  for  my  use  and  hardly  seemed  the  prod- 
uct of  my  own  thought.  I  repress  my  longing  to  give 
some  illustrations  of  this  peculiar  instinct  of  my  being 
and  feel  it  just  to  myself  to  mention  the  matter  only  to 

297 


298  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

say  that  these  public  adventures,  unless  thoroughly  good- 
natured  and  without  all  partisan  taint,  ought  to  be 
avoided. 

What  others  have  chosen  to  call  my  humor  has  rarely 
been  dealt  with  as  a  useful  asset  by  myself.  From  fun- 
making  as  an  art  I  have  shrunk  with  intellectual  as  well 
as  religious  sensitiveness.  It  has  always  cut  me  to  the 
core  when  solicited  to  amuse  people  by  story  or  by 
speech.  At  the  same  time  I  have  found  it  no  easy  task 
to  exclude  the  playful,  the  comic,  the  hit,  or  the  humorous 
from  my  public  utterances.  I  do  not  remember  that  I 
ever  premeditated  laughable  things  for  my  sermons,  but 
almost  any  time  when  my  self-mastery  was  strong  and 
my  mind  saw  things  in  their  varied  relations,  things 
would  break  out  unexpectedly  along  the  line  of  my  de- 
livery that  would  provoke  a  smile  and  very  often  audible 
laughter.  There  were  some  who  urged  me  to  stock  my 
sermons  with  playful,  amusing  and  ludicrous  things,  but 
my  intellectual  self-respect,  as  well  as  my  sense  of  Chris- 
tian propriety,  always  forbade  it. 

One  thing  I  never  could  do  and  that  is  to  tell  a  stock 
story.  That  vast  accumulation  of  anecdotes  which  I  met 
in  one  form  or  another  on  platform  and  in  parlor,  I  never 
could  use.  And  this  is  true  of  those  pulpit  illustrations 
as  well.  They  did  not  fit  my  lips.  I  was  always  afraid 
that  somebody  had  told  them  beforehand  and  in  point  of 
fact  I  failed  when  I  undertook  to  repeat  them.  Indeed 
my  preaching  was  grievously  impoverished  by  my 
inability  to  use  illustrations  told  me  by  others  or  found 
in  newspaper  or  book.  It  was  one  of  my  humbling  limi- 
tations and  it  reduced  me  almost  entirely  to  such  illustra- 
tions as  I  accumulated  in  my  own  experiences.  There  is 
some  advantage  in  telling  things  which  you  saw  in  their 
occurring  and  of  whose  truthfulness  you  are  perfectly  as- 
sured.     They  are  a  part  of  your  personality  and  of 


RATHER  TOO  PERSONAL  299 

course  ouglit  to  be  peculiarly  effective,  the  difficulty 
being  that  it  takes  a  long  time  for  a  man  who  has  a  great 
deal  of  public  speaking  to  do  to  gather  a  workable  supply. 

The  Last  Speaker 

I  have  been,  with  almost  oppressive  frequency,  called 
to  speak  in  mass-meetings  and  other  public  assemblages 
of  the  popular  sort.  It  also  would  come  to  pass  that  al- 
most invariably  I  would  be  made  the  last  speaker,  a  diffi- 
cult position,  and  one  which  at  the  first  I  dreaded.  As 
time  went  on,  however,  and  this  was  my  fate  so  often,  I 
came  to  feel  that  I  was  at  home  nowhere  else  except  at 
the  tail  end  of  the  occasion.  The  other  men  often  played 
me  unpitying  tricks  and  the  dissolving  crowd  often  de- 
pressed me  and  sometimes  hopelessly  wrecked  me.  This 
necessity  of  dealing  with  the  shank  end  of  a  great  occa- 
sion had  much  to  do  with  my  supposed  fondness  for  hu- 
moring the  crowd.  The  thing  had  to  be  done.  To  come 
to  the  platform  with  the  old  people  trembling  their  way 
down  the  aisle,  and  the  young  folks,  maddened  with 
fatigue,  pulling  out  by  the  score,  brought  a  crisis  some- 
times entirely  beyond  my  control  and  always  full  of  em- 
barrassments. But  I  never  had  a  story  or  a  joke  at  com- 
mand for  the  emergency.  The  effective  things  that  I  had 
done  at  other  places  could  not  be  recalled  and  I  had  to 
trust  to  the  occasion  for  material  with  which  to  awaken 
attention  and  make  a  chance  for  myself.  As  I  look  back 
to  the  multitudinous  occasions  of  this  sort  in  which  I 
figured,  I  find  it  far  easier  to  recall  the  times  when  things 
went  awry  with  me  than  when  they  came  my  way  and  I 
held  the  field. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  never  wanted  to  make  a  very 
long  speech  except  when  I  was  put  up  to  speak  under  a 
time  limit.  Of  all  restraints  that  has  been  to  me  the 
most  terrifying,  and  instead  of  speeding  me  it  has  lum- 


300  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

bered  me  up  with  self-consciousness  and  obstructed  my 
progress.  I  recall  a  night  in  Washington  City,  at  the 
International  Conference  of  the  Christian  Alliance, 
which,  by  the  way,  struck  me  as  one  of  the  most  power- 
ful religious  assemblies  that  I  ever  attended.  Every  sec- 
tion of  our  country  was  represented.  All  the  Christian 
denominations  were  there  with  their  distinguished  spokes- 
men, and  the  temper  of  the  meeting  was  exalted  and  de- 
lightful. 

My  time  for  speaking  was  on  the  second  night ;  the 
meeting  was  in  the  Congregational  church,  a  noble  audi- 
torium filled  with  an  incomparably  fine  audience.  As 
usual,  fate  put  me  as  the  last  man  on  the  programme  and 
the  theme  assigned  me  was  the  religious  conditions  of  the 
South,  a  topic  not  peculiarly  inspiring  at  that  time.  I 
was  simply  the  pastor  of  a  fairly  good  church  in  Eich- 
mond,  Ya.,  and  had  no  record  that  anybody  knew  about ; 
and  coming  as  I  did,  late  in  the  evening,  and  having  to 
speak  only  for  a  given  number  of  minutes,  I  truly  found 
myself  voyaging  on  unfriendly  seas  and  in  mortal  dread 
of  being  wrecked  by  the  timekeeper  before  I  could  get 
into  port.  In  my  eyes  my  speech  was  crude  and  dull 
enough,  and  what  filled  me  with  impotence  was  the 
dread  of  being  smitten  in  an  untimely  way. 

The  Hon.  Wm.  E.  Dodge  of  ^ew  York,  one  of  our 
noblest  American  Christian  leaders,  was  presiding,  and 
for  some  reasons  I  turned  during  the  speech  to  address 
him  and  saw  the  hand  of  the  timekeeper  ominously  lifted 
to  give  the  signal  for  me  to  quit.  With  more  of  despera- 
tion than  of  courtesy  I  pointed  my  finger  at  him  and 
said,  "Touch  that  bell  if  you  dare,  but  only  at  the  risk 
of  your  life.'' 

The  roar  of  laughter  which  instantly  shook  the  house 
was  something  not  to  be  forgotten.  I  had  said  one  thing 
at  least  which  the  vast  assemblage  approved.     Just  then, 


BATHER  TOO  PERSONAL  301 

too,  as  tlie  uoise  subsided,  I  heard  Mr.  Dodge  say,  "Let 
the  bell  aloue ;  let  liim  go  his  way." 

He  didn't  know  that  I  heard  him,  but  there  was  the 
music  of  heaven  and  the  freedom  of  earth  in  what  he  said. 
Several  of  the  most  significant  statements  contained  in 
my  address  were  yet  unmade  and  the  new  sense  of  liberty 
gave  me  a  courage  and  an  abandon  that  amounted  to  in- 
spiration. It  was  mercy  from  above  coming  to  a  some- 
what stranded  man.  I  was  put  fully  at  my  ease,  said  my 
say,  and  let  off  ever  so  many  sentiments  so  national  in 
their  scope,  so  patriotic  in  their. spirit  and  so,— and  so,— 
at  least  I  got  through  and  the  rest  of  it  can  well  remain 
untold  for  all  the  coming  forever. 

On  another  occasion  I  was  called  to  make  an  address 
in  the  city  of  Philadelphia.  There  Avere  to  be  two  other 
speakers,  one  from  Boston  and  one  from  New  York,  and 
the  time  for  the  speaking  was,  according  to  my  engage- 
ment, on  October  the  third.  I  decided  to  drop  into  Phila- 
delphia the  evening  before  and  get  my  reckonings.  I  did 
not  know  at  what  hour  the  speaking  was  to  come  nor  the 
place  for  the  meeting.  I  landed  in  the  town  about  night- 
fall, went  to  the  hotel,  got  my  room  and  my  supper  and 
decided  to  go  out  for  a  little  stroll  and  come  back  and 
spend  the  night  with  my  ill-prepared  speech,  in  the  hope 
of  shaping  it  for  the  next  day.  I  was  in  my  travelling 
clothes,  which  were  decidedly  worse  for  wear,  my  collar 
was  limp  and  soiled,  and  I  had  only  dabbled  a  little  in  a 
bowl  of  water  and  stroked  my  rebellious  locks  into  shape 
for  appearing  in  the  dining-room. 

Out  on  the  street  I  stopped  for  a  shine  and  had  a  season 
of  fellowship  with  an  old  Virginia  darkey  who  talked 
well  as  he  gave  me  the  shine.  He  told  me  I  was  very 
near  to  a  great  and  notable  church  building,  and  as  it  was 
Wednesday  evening  I  thought  I  might  drop  into  a  prayer- 


302  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

meeting  and  trust  to  my  well-established  obscurity  to 
guard  me  from  recognition  or  notice.  I  stood  out  at  the 
front  and  saw  two  or  three  people  going  into  the  church 
and  concluded  that  I  would  explore  for  the  prayer-meet- 
ing. A  well-dressed  man  gave  me  a  vigorous  shake  and 
led  me  into  the  auditorium  and  every  seat  of  the  vast 
building  was  occupied.  I  asked  the  usher  what  it  meant 
and  I  found  that  it  was  one  service  of  the  great  bi-cen- 
tennial  which  I  was  to  assist  in  celebrating  on  the  next 
day.  My  first  thought  was  to  retreat,  but  I  asked  him 
what  they  were  going  to  do  that  night  and  he  pulled  open 
a  very  elaborate  schedule  and  said:  ^'Have  several 
speeches."  I  felt  that  it  did  not  necessarily  require  a 
clean  collar  to  sit  in  the  rear  and  hear  speeches,  but  pres- 
ently he  said,  "  The  first  speaker  of  the  evening  is  William 
E.  Hatcher,  of  Richmond,  Virginia."  Then  my  only 
thought  was  to  make  a  dash  for  the  tall  timbers.  Too  late, 
however.  Here  came  up  the  aisle  the  very  man  who  had 
told  me  that  my  speech  would  come  on  the  next  day. 
This  he  did  in  the  correspondence  which  led  me  into  the 
engagement!  '^Heaven  bless  you.  Hatcher!"  he  cried 
with  such  passionate  fervor  that  he  brought  me  to  a  pause. 
He  told  me  that  it  was  about  time  for  the  speaking,  that 
the  other  orators  were  invisible  to  the  natural  eye,  and 
that  I  was  the  redeemer  of  the  night.  I  pointed  to  my 
dust- covered  coat.  I  told  him  of  my  unfinished  manu- 
script in  my  valise  at  the  hotel  and  assured  him  that  of  all 
mortals  I  was  the  most  miserable.  It  did  no  good  ;  he 
heeded  it  not,  but  fairly  collared  me  and  took  me  into  a 
side  room,  shucked  off  my  overcoat  and  hat  and  per- 
emptorily forced  me  to  the  platform. 

They  were  working  off  a  few  solos  and  notices  when 
the  presiding  officer  who  recognized  me  began  to  intro- 
duce me  in  terms  so  effusive  and  extravagant  that  I  grew 
desperate,  and  to  my  temporary  relief  at  least,  the  tide  of 


RATHER  TOO  PERSONAL  303 

Lis  eloquence  was  suddenly  checked  and  he  was  told  that 
he  was  introducing  me  at  the  wrong  time,  a  statement  the 
truthfulness  of  which  I  felt  most  profoundly. 

It  turned  out  that  this  brother  was  only  a  temporary 
chairman  and  that  they  had  a  Pittsburg  congressman  in 
training  for  the  permanent  chairmanship  of  the  evening. 
In  due  course  this  distinguished  citizen  was  brought  for- 
ward and  a  good  deal  of  the  concrete  eloquence  which 
was  about  to  be  used  in  introducing  me  was  expended 
upon  this  eminent  American  citizen.  Meanwhile  I  sat 
there  with  a  distinct  criminal  feeling,  with  not  one  of  my 
outer  garments  in  respectable  order  except  my  newly 
blacked  shoes,  and  as  the  great  pulpit  was  banked  in 
evergreens  my  shoes  could  not  testify  in  my  favor,  unless 
I  stood  on  my  head,  and  I  almost  felt  that  I  would  gladly 
assume  that  attitude  if  I  could  thereby  obscure  the  rest 
of  myself. 

The  congressman  made  a  speech  and  somebody  sang  a 
solo  and  then  my  second  introduction  undertook  to  com- 
mence, but  unluckily  the  congressman  had  mislaid  the 
programme,  and  not  having  been  previously  informed 
even  of  my  advent  into  these  mortal  scenes,  totally  forgot 
my  name  and  stammered  and  blundered  and  searched  his 
pockets  and  did  almost  everything  except  to  introduce 
me.  That  was  the  time  of  my  life.  A  thousand  times 
my  obscurity  had  hampered  and  humiliated  me,  but  that 
night  I  found  it  pleasant  to  be  the  victim  in  the  wreck  of 
the  schedule. 

Finally,  however,  they  got  me  up.  I  told  them  that 
after  one  man  had  given  me  a  handsome  introduction  and 
had  then  been  forced  to  take  it  all  back  and  after  another 
man  who  had  undertaken  to  introduce  me,  being  ap- 
pointed so  to  do,  had  practically  left  me  unintroduced, 
and  as  my  manuscript  and  my  best  clothes  were  at  the 
hotel  and  as  I  also  felt  unworthy  of  any  introduction 


304  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

under  the  circumstances,  I  would  make  a  few  remarks 
pledging  myself  that  if  there  were  any  gentlemen  present 
who  might  feel  called  upon  during  the  evening  to  intro- 
duce me  I  would  cheerfnlly  yield  the  floor  for  that 
purpose. 

As  to  what  T  said  further  it  is  not  needful  to  say  here 
except  to  express  the  opinion  that  the  comedy  of  errors, 
if  not  my  speech,  about  as  adequately  entertained  and 
refreshed  the  people  as  if  everything  had  gone  off  with 
the  most  exact  propriety. 

It  was  my  unhappy  fortune  to  be  called  into  many  grim 
and  gruesome  experiences.  I  know  not  how  many  times 
I  had  to  go  to  the  courts  in  the  interests  of  my  stranded 
fellows  who  desired  me  as  a  witness,  an  intercessor,  or  a 
religious  adviser. 

Daring  my  life  in  Eichmond  a  very  interesting  and 
promising  young  lawyer  was  given  the  death  sentence  for 
the  murder  of  a  young  woman.  The  affair  created  an 
excitement  which  spread  over  the  entire  country  and 
fairly  convulsed  Virginia.  The  evidence  was  entirely 
circumstantial  and  the  public  was  cut  into  two  very 
distinct  and  discordant  parties.  The  execution  did  not 
occur  for  nearly  two  years  after  the  murder  and  I  was 
the  spiritual  counsellor  of  the  young  man.  The  cor- 
respondence which  came  to  me  for  the  young  man,  or 
through  the  young  man  to  me,  or  directly  to  me  concern- 
ing the  young  man,  would  have  made  a  text-book  for  the 
study  of  human  nature.  Upon  me  fell  the  suspicions 
and,  in  no  small  degree,  the  aspersions  of  both  parties, 
one  side  asserting  that  I  knew  the  young  man  was  guilty, 
and  the  other  freely  quoting  me  as  a  champion  of  his 
innocence.  As  a  fact,  from  the  time  I  became  identified 
with  the  case,  I  never  expressed  an  opinion  on  either 
side.     Illustrative  of  the  way  I  was  handled  by  the  public 


RATHER  TOO  PERSONAL  305 

I  give  an  odd  incident.  I  was  holdiDg  a  series  of  meet- 
ings in  the  northern  Piedmont  of  Virginia.  We  had 
double  service  with  a  dinner  coming  between  and  spread 
under  the  great  oaks  of  the  parks  surrounding  the  church 
building.  One  day  after  I  had  partaken  of  my  lunch  I 
thought  I  would  stroll  a  bit  to  shape  my  thoughts  for  the 
afternoon  meeting,  and  so  I  set  out  on  a  little  stroll  up 
the  wooded  roadway.  Quite  soon  I  found  that  I  was 
followed  by  some  one  and  decided  to  slacken  my  steps 
and  let  him  pass ;  but  he  strode  up  to  my  side  and 
stopped,  or  rather  fell  in  with  my  gait.  I  knew  him  but 
slightly  and  uttered  a  word  of  greeting  which  brought  no 
reply.  Presently  turning  aggressively  upon  me  he  said 
with  almost  vindictive  energy : 

''  I  feel,  sir,  that  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have  hated  you 
for  five  years. ' ' 

With  that  he  stopped.  I  confess  that  for  a  moment  I 
was  bewildered  and  for  a  while  I  held  my  tongue  ;  but  he 
held  his,  and  there  we  were  plodding  along  the  public 
road  side  by  side. 

^'  It  may  be  well  for  me  to  tell  you,"  I  said,  turning  to 
him  with  unruffled  composure,  ''that  I  know  several 
other  gentlemen  who  are  doing  exactly  the  same  thing, 
and  I  think  it's  probable  that  if  you  look  around  you 
could  find  enough  persons  who  feel  as  you  do  about  me  to 
make  up  quite  a  respectable  club.'^ 

He  was  slow  to  reply,  but  he  finally  asked  me  if  I  de- 
sired to  know  why  it  was  that  he  had  such  confirmed 
hostility  towards  me. 

''That  depends  upon  circumstances,"  I  said  firmly. 
"  If  your  hatred  has  been  caused  by  any  real  or  imaginary 
injury  committed  on  you  by  myself  I  will  be  greatly 
obliged  if  you  will  tell  me  ;  otherwise  I  do  not  care  to 
know." 

Once  more  we  had  a  prolonged  silence  which  he  broke 


306  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

at  last.  ''  I  hate  you,"  lie  said,  '^  because  when  you  were 
the  religious  adviser  of  Thomas  J.  Cluverius  you  did  uot 
come  out  and  declare  your  belief  in  his  innocence,"  he 
said  in  tones  positively  fierce. 

'^  Well,  sir,"  said  I,  ^'  in  point  of  fact,  I  did  not  know 
whether  he  was  innocent  or  guilty.  He  said  that  he  was 
innocent ;  the  jury,  the  Supreme  Coui't  and  the  governor 
declared  him  guilty.  It  was  not  my  duty  to  decide  the  mat- 
ter. And  if  I  had  been  of  the  decided  opinion  that  he  was 
innocent  I  should  not  have  said  so.  My  relations  with 
him  and  with  the  community  enjoined  silence,  and  if  you 
hate  me  because  of  that  fact,  then  you  will  have  to  continue 
to  hate  me,"  and  I  asked  to  be  excused.  It  was  fully 
ten  years  after  that,  that  in  quite  another  section  of  the 
country,  and  most  unexijectedly,  that  man  and  I  met  face 
to  face.  He  seemed  almost  transported  to  see  me  ;  shook 
my  hand  with  vehement  cordiality  and  we  passed  a  few 
friendly  words  and  parted  without  touching  the  odd  and 
awkward  interview  we  had  had  a  decade  before. 

A  friend  has  asked  me  how  I  got  to  be  humorous.  The 
question  hits  me  in  a  new  spot  and  savors  of  the  prepos- 
terous. There  does  not  seem  to  be  any  humor  in  me  ;  it 
has  no  place  in  my  natural  endowments  nor  my  equip- 
ments so  far  as  I  can  understand.  If  there  is  anything  in 
me  that  has  to  do  with  humor,  it  can  hardly  be  inherent 
and  at  best  is  nothing  more  than  a  very  limited  capacity 
to  discover  the  humors  of  outside  situations.  There  is  no 
enginery  within  me  for  manufacturing  humor,  and  if  it  is 
at  all  proper  to  mention  humor  and  me  the  same  day,  it 
must  be  because  I  may  have  a  scant  and  unlocated  gift  for 
discovering  those  conjunctions  in  human  affairs  which 
titilate  the  people  and  call  forth  their  laughter.  This  I 
say  not  at  all  as  an  expert,  but  as  a  man  who  does  not 
live  in  sight  of  the  humorous  side  of  mundane  affairs.     By 


RATHER  TOO  PERSONAL  307 

nature  I  am  revereutial,  sympathetic  and  very  serious, 
and  if  hedged  off  from  this  comical  world  and  from  odd 
and  blundering  folk  I  do  not  know  that  I  should  ever 
smile  again.  Indeed  I  usually  feel  ashamed  of  myself 
and  quiver  with  chagrin  after  I  have  whipped  a  crowd 
into  laughter  and  rollicking  fun. 

I  might  be  allowed  to  say  another  thing.  I  utterly 
abhor  fun  for  fun's  sake,  except  in  dealing  with  children. 
To  please  them,  to  give  them  jolly  surprises,  to  hear  their 
ringing  laughter,  I  have  always  been  ready  to  sing  a 
song,  act  a  charade,  play  a  prank  or  even  crack  a  joke, 
but  I  fall  out  with  myself  utterly  when  I  have  been  be- 
trayed into  exhibiting  myself  in  a  bui'lesquing  or  ludi- 
crous way  for  grown  up  people.  When  I  do  intentionally 
make  people  laugh,  it  is  always  with  a  serious  purpose. 
If  I  have  a  collection  to  take  and  my  crowd  is  restive,  un- 
responsive or  in  any  way  hard  to  handle,  I  may  purposely 
bring  on  a  laugh.  Not,  however,  by  a  stock  story  or  any 
old  expedient  laid  away  for  such  purposes,  but  by  some 
playful  commentary  on  the  immediate  situation. 

Not  long  ago  I  was  taking  a  collection  and  nothing 
was  doing  when  a  gaunt  and  vacant  looking  youngster 
pulled  out  of  his  seat  near  the  pulpit,  tramped  his  way 
down  the  aisle  and  bolted  out  at  the  door.  I  stopped 
while  he  was  going  and  simply  remarked  that  I  was  al- 
ways glad  when  third  and  second-class  people  went  out 
when  I  was  talking,  that  while  it  put  them  at  a  disad- 
vantage, it  showed  that  they  were  of  a  sort  that  I  could 
not  entertain.  It  brought  a  little  ripple  of  laughter  and 
I  then  asked  that  if  any  second-class  people  felt  that  they 
were  out  of  place  and  wished  to  leave  they  could  go 
at  any  time  they  pleased  and  that  I  would  halt  the  ex- 
ercises while  they  were  going  out.  There  was  j  ust  enough 
outbreaking  laughter  to  give  the  restless  element  of  the 
congregation  to  understand  that  if  they  started  out  the 


308  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

speaking  would  stop  and  the  laughter  begin.  There  was 
no  further  trouble,  and  my  remarks,  which  were  made  for 
a  purpose,  were  sensiblj^  strengthened  in  their  effect  by 
the  laughter  of  the  audience. 


XX 

THE  PET  OF  THE  EVENING 

IT  comes  too  near  my  heart  to  speak  to  an  uncertain 
public  concerning  my  domestic  life.  It  may  be  al- 
lowable to  speak  of  a  God-given  home  and  of  one  of 
the  most  loyal  and  harmonious  households.  In  some  way 
I  managed  to  build  an  ample  home  for  my  family  in 
Eichmond,  and  ^^608  W.  Grace  Street"  was,  during  the 
growing  years  of  my  family,  the  gathering  place  where 
parents  and  children  knew  the  bliss,  the  freedom,  the 
blessings  of  a  Christian  household.  Very  soon,  however, 
my  children  began  to  scatter  ;  the  ministry  carried  off  my 
only  son,  marriage  claimed  one  of  my  daughters,  teach- 
ing and  travel  and  special  studies  began  to  draw  away 
the  rest.  Those  who  were  away  for  the  most  of  the  year 
lived  on  the  thought  of  coming  home  for  vacation  and 
those  who  were  still  left  at  home  longed  for  recreation  and 
quiet  during  the  summer.  It  looked  as  if  we  could  not 
be  together  during  the  winter  nor  in  summer. 

This  led  to  the  decision  to  build  a  summer  home,  and 
the  place  selected  for  that  purpose  was  among  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Blue  Eidge  Mountains,  in  a  quiet,  straggling 
little  village  known,  so  far  as  it  was  known  at  all,  as  Fork 
Union.  There  upon  the  brow  of  a  noble  hill,  we  put  up  a 
modest  mansion  with  apartments  for  each  member  of  the 
family  with  a  view  to  its  occupancy  during  the  summer 
months.  We  called  it  Careby  Hall,  being  moved  to 
select  that  name  by  reason  of  the  fact  that  a  genealogical 
enthusiast  of  the  Hatcher  stock  spent  many  months  in 

309 


310  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

England  in  tracing  the  history  of  our  ancestry.  He  sent 
me  the  result  of  his  investigations,  showing  me  that  the 
place  to  which  our  forebears  were  traced  bore  the  name  of 
Careby.  Much  of  the  richest  revenues  of  earthly  pleasure 
which  have  come  to  me  have  met  me  in  our  country 
home  where  our  summer  reunions  and  our  Christmas 
merrymakings  with  the  children  and  the  grandchildren 
have  taken  i)lace  for  over  a  dozen  years.  The  gates  of 
Careby  Hall  were  opened  only  at  these  special  seasons  for 
several  years,  but  later  on  our  domestic  lights  went  out  at 
608  W.  Grace  Street  and  Careby  Hall  became  the  family 
homestead.  Its  gates  have  stood  open  night  and  day, 
kindred  and  friends  have  come  and  gone,  its  balmy  rest 
has  ever  spread  its  couch  for  me  when  I  have  gone  home 
from  the  travel,  strain  and  toil  of  my  old  age  activities. 

Soon  after  erecting  this  home  at  Fork  Union,  there  grew 
into  my  heart  a  desire  to  be  of  some  substantial  service 
to  the  community.  The  people  were  agricultural  for  the 
most  part,  intelligent  above  the  ordinary,  and  full  of  kind- 
ness for  the  new  neighbor,  and  it  seemed  only  fitting  that 
some  little  return  for  their  abounding  hospitality  should 
be  made.  After  some  meditation  my  choice  settled  upon 
the  thought  of  a  school  which  would  afford  the  neighbor- 
hood far  better  educational  facilities  than  it  had  ever 
had. 

The  start  of  it  was  too  modest  and  timid  to  expect  the 
movement  to  be  made  more  than  an  enterprise  of  the 
community.  The  mention  of  the  proposition  set  the 
neighborhood  afire.  The  wildest  and  most  enthusiastic 
approval  broke  out  in  every  direction,  and  the  little 
school  started  in  a  rented  house  with  one  solitary  teacher, 
— a  worthy  bachelor  of  Eichmond  College,  and  with  less 
than  twenty  scholars. 

The  growth  of  the  school  from  the  start  has  been  out  of 
all  proportion  to  its  resources.     The  neighborhood  could 


THE  PET  OF  THE  EVENING  311 

not  farnisli  maDy  students,  but  the  young  people  began 
with  the  second  year  to  come  in  with  ever-increasing 
numbers,  until  for  the  present  session  (1908-1909)  the  en- 
rollment has  been  about  two  hundred.  The  faculty,  con- 
sisting of  one  at  first,  has  grown  to  about  one  dozen  in  num- 
ber, and  besides  ample  and  comfortable  boarding  arrange- 
ments, the  trustees  have  erected  a  building  capable  of 
housing  the  faculty,  the  administrative  officers,  the  gun 
room,  the  library  and  the  literary  society,  and  also  of  ac- 
commodating a  large  number  of  students.  The  trustees 
are  now  erecting  a  large  building,  including  an  armory, 
a  public  hall,  a  skating  rink,  and  ample  room  for  con- 
ducting the  work  of  the  academy. 

To  me  this  school  has  been  a  gracious  burden  and  a 
taxing  benediction.  It  has  brought  me  into  contact  with 
hundreds  of  the  choicest  young  people  whose  lives  it  has 
been  my  happy  portion  to  touch.  Ministerial  students 
have  come  in  great  numbers  :  the  sons  of  ministers  have 
been  educated  at  small  expense,  and  ever  so  many  youths 
have  worked  their  way  in  different  industrial  lines  which 
have  been  open  to  them  in  the  neighborhood.  Students 
have  come  from  every  section  of  our  republic  and  from 
many  foreign  countries,  and  year  by  year  we  have  wit- 
nessed the  conversion  of  many  young  people  who  have 
found  the  Saviour  under  the  good  religious  influences  of 
the  academy. 

Not  very  long  after  the  academy  started,  the  Department 
of  War  at  Washington,  after  due  investigation,  decided 
to  give  the  school  a  military  equipment  and  to  detail  an 
officer  as  Instructor  in  Military  Science  and  Tactics.  The 
new  feature  has  worked  admirably,  and  the  discipline, 
efficiency  and  varied  benefits  of  the  military  system  have 
given  the  school  rare  prestige  and  a  far-reaching  reputa- 
tion. That  the  school  has  drawn  upon  every  resource  of 
my  life  I  can  truthfully  say,  making  its  exactions  exceed- 


312  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

ingly  heavy  at  times.  It  has  been  the  pet  of  my  latter 
days,  and  of  all  the  facts  of  its  life  the  most  comforting 
and  delightful  is  that  it  has  never  yielded  me  one  dollar 
of  income  or  suj)port.  It  has  not  all  it  needs,  and  is  not 
all  that  it  ought  to  be,  nor  can  I  tell  what  its  future  will 
be,  but  I  shall  leave  the  world  thankful  for  the  good 
that  it  has  done,  and  for  the  honor  which  has  been  mine 
in  working  with  the  good  people  of  the  commui^ity  in  the 
establishment  of  the  Fork  Union  Military  Academy. 


XXI 

THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF 

AT  the  western  base  of  the  Peaks  of  Otter  in  Bed- 
ford County,  Virginia,  lies  a  picturesque  little 
valley.  Sixty  years  ago  it  held  a  primitive,  un- 
travelled  population.  Its  homes  consisted  almost  entirely 
of  log  houses  with  rarely  more  than  three  or  four  rooms. 
Not  a  church  had  been  built  within  its  boundary,  and 
next  to  nothing  had  been  done  for  the  education  of  the 
children.  Scant  note  was  taken  of  the  Sabbath  except  as 
it  was  spent  in  sport,  rude  festivity  and  outright  dissipa- 
tion. It  was  the  prime  time  for  hunting,  prize  shooting 
and  social  visiting.  The  name  of  God  was  rarely  heard 
except  in  levity  or  blasphemy. 

At  that  time  there  was  growing  up  in  the  neighborhood 
an  eccentric  and  reckless  lad,  known  to  all,  the  old  and 
young,  as  Jeff  Cottrell.  He  was  one  of  nature's  notable 
freaks, — a  character  from  his  cradle.  He  shot  up  like  a 
bean  pole,  early  attaining  an  uncommon  altitude,  crooked 
and  ill-shapen  in  many  ways,  shrivelled  of  face,  tawny  in 
complexion,  with  arms  and  hands  almost  unnaturally 
long,  with  hair  dead,  thin,  straight  and  industriously 
neglected.  He  walked  with  a  swinging,  irregular  gait 
which  humped  him  along  at  surprising  speed.  His  height 
was  six  feet,  with  uncounted  inches  added  thereunto. 
While  he  did  not  hate  work  he  was  a  huntsman  by  nature, 
with  gaming  as  a  fascination,  an  easy  way  with  every- 
body, and  neither  avoided  nor  loved  good  men. 

The  religious  element  seemed  to  have  been  omitted  at 
his  making,  and  was  to  him  a  topic  for  jest.     He  could 

313 


314  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

not  read,  and  did  not  wish  to  read.  His  nature  was  an 
absorbent,  and  he  picked  up  and  wonderfully  retained 
things  as  he  went  along,  and  in  some  odd  way  he  could 
utilize  what  he  knew. 

Jeff  held  a  unique  place  in  the  neighborhood,  there 
being  no  more  of  his  sort,  and  his  dare-devil  air  in  the 
opinion  of  the  multitude  marked  him  for  the  worst  doom. 
He  knew  all  the  roads  and  by-paths,  could  see  at  night  as 
well  as  in  the  day,  and  feared  nothing  on  the  earth.  The 
blast  of  his  horn,  the  crack  of  his  gun,  the  cry  of  his 
dogs,  was  a  part  of  his  reputation,  and  the  sight  of  his 
face,  so  inwrought  with  mischief,  and  the  ring  of  his 
laugh,  made  it  pleasant  to  the  people  to  have  him  pass 
their  gates.  Even  those  who  deemed  him  a  useless  and 
adventurous  sportsman  laughed  at  his  hunting  jokes  and 
wished  him  well,  but  possibly  not  one  person  in  all  the 
valley  once  dreamed  that  a  religious  thought  could  ever 
vex  his  brain  or  bring  him  to  sobriety.  There  were  a 
few  godly  people  in  that  mountain  vale.  They  built 
themselves  a  hewn  log  chapel,  organized  a  weak  little 
church  and  went  to  housekeeping  in  the  name  of  the  Lord. 
In  the  course  of  time  they  secured  as  their  spiritual  leader, 
a  missionary  of  exceedingly  light  gifts  and  scant  culture. 
For  the  bulk  of  his  life,  this  modest  gentleman  had  been  a 
clerk  in  a  country  store  and  had  devoted  his  life  to 
weights  and  balances,  yardsticks  and  scissors,  and  when 
it  was  reported  that  he  was  about  to  desert  the  commer- 
cial world  for  the  ministry,  the  Philistines  shed  scores  of 
flippant  jokes  at  his  expense,  and  when  it  was  announced 
that  "the  Hollow ^^  had  vselected  this  brother  as  its  pas- 
tor, the  Pharisaic  tribes  of  the  lowlands  said  that  Thomas 
S.  Sanderson  would  do  for  the  denizens  of  that  benighted 
region. 

But  be  it  said  that  this  ill-trained  missionary  was  not 
to  be  despised.     He  had  a  zeal  ever  aflame,  and  while  his 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  315 

sermous  were  without  form  they  were  not  void.  They 
were  filled  with  the  big  concrete  truths  of  the  Gospel, 
and  in  spite  of  some  grating  intonations  he  told  the 
gospel  story  with  good  effect.  While  at  the  mountain 
chapel  he  decided  to  hold  a  revival,  and  as  I  was  in  my 
third  vacation  as  a  college  student  and  as  the  dear  little 
evangelist  was  at  his  wit's  ends  for  help,  he  asked  me  to 
take  a  part  in  his  meeting.  The  revival  was  an  event 
for  the  neighborhood.  The  simple  folk  poured  out  of 
the  coves  and  hollows  of  the  mountain  and  packed  the 
little  house  to  suffocation.  The  meeting  shook  almost 
every  house  in  the  neighborhood  and  the  conversions 
were  many. 

One  night  the  service  suffered  a  curious  and  a  most 
exciting  shock.  I  was  in  the  pulpit  hammering  away 
with  my  sermon  in  my  crude  and  awkward  fashion,  when 
an  interruption  occurred  which  played  shipwreck  with 
my  sermon  and  with  the  meeting.  Through  a  little  win- 
dow, near  the  pulpit,  there  slowly  entered  a  human 
head,  thrust  forward  by  a  neck  appallingly  long,  covered 
with  tangled  hair,  and  lit  with  two  mischievous  eyes. 
Indeed,  he  intruded  so  far  that  his  face  was  plainly  visible 
and  easily  recognized  by  the  audience.  It  chanced  that  he 
was  out  on  one  of  his  nocturnal  rambles,  and  in  passing 
near  the  church  he  discovered  the  lights  and  without  one 
thought  as  to  the  order  and  propriety  of  his  action,  he 
marched  up  and  inserted  himself  so  far  as  possible 
through  the  window,  partly  to  see  and  partly  in  sheer 
mischief. 

It  was  a  scene  not  to  be  forgotten.  Women  were 
startled.  The  boys  broke  into  ill-suppressed  laughter  and 
the  tremulous  collegian  in  the  pulpit  was  hopelessly 
upset.  In  a  very  little  while  the  head  was  withdrawn 
and  the  excitement  gradually  subsided.  Not,  however, 
until  something  had  happened  which  was  destined  to 


316  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

play  an  immortal  part  in  the  history  of  that  gawky  and 
untutored  mountaineer.  Into  his  soul  a  gospel  arrow 
had  entered  with  unerring  aim  and  a  new  light  arose 
upon  the  soul  of  Jeff  Cottrell  that  was  never  to  die  out. 
At  first  the  young  man  was  utterly  confounded.  He 
came  to  the  meetings,  but  strolled  over  the  churchyard, 
indulged  in  loud  and  defiant  talk,  breathed  maledictions 
upon  the  church,  sometimes  starting  homeward  with 
blasphemous  vows  that  he  would  come  no  more,  and  yet 
always  coming  again,  until  he  grew  into  a  menace  to  the 
revival.  Happily  he  was  not  rebuked  nor  repressed,  and 
meanwhile  his  convictions  deepened  every  hour,  until 
he  slipped  into  the  chapel  one  night  unobserved,  and 
secreted  himself  near  the  door.  \Yhen  the  call  for  in- 
quirers was  made,  to  the  bewilderment  of  pastor  and 
church,  Jeff,  the  unshapen,  the  fun-making,  the  irre- 
pressible Jeff  came  forward  with  great  feeling  to  the 
front  bench.  I  can  never  forget  his  weird  form,  his  jan- 
gling stride  and  his  awkward  and  sorrowful  look.  The 
crowd  fairly  gasped  with  amazement  and  yet  it  was 
quickly  seen  that  the  frivolous  and  jovial  spirit  had 
gone  out  of  him  and  a  new  passion  had  mastered  him. 
In  a  sense  his  comiug  out  brought  trouble.  His  igno- 
rance of  the  Gospel  was  fearful ;  he  could  give  no  account 
of  himself  and  he  was  despondent  and  even  surly  in  his 
mood.  Instruction  failed  on  him,  and  the  evangelist  and 
I  did  our  utmost  for  him  and  yet  the  darkness  of  his 
mind  seemed  unpierced  by  one  ray  of  light.  For  my 
part  I  despaired  of  him  and  told  Sanderson  that  I  com- 
mitted Jeff  to  his  tender  mercies.  I  was  near  to  the  point 
of  feeling  that  he  had  not  sense  enough  to  be  converted. 
The  only  hopeful  thing  about  him  was  his  perseverance. 
He  was  always  there.  He  accepted  every  invitation.  He 
listened  with  pathetic  intensity  to  all  that  was  said  and 
yet  he  could  not  find  the  way. 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  317 

On  the  last  night  of  the  meeting  it  was  announced  that 
service  would  be  held  next  morning  to  receive  those  who 
desired  to  unite  with  the  church.  When  the  invitation 
was  extended,  foremost  among  the  applicants  was  Jeff 
with  an  almost  seraphic  gentleness  and  peace  about  his 
face.  He  had  not  made  any  open  profession  and  his 
coming  was  a  surprise.  The  pastor  appeared  anxious. 
Jeff  was  an  unsolved  problem  to  him  and  he  dreaded  to 
tackle  him,  but  after  a  whispered  interview  with  me,  in 
which  he  found  scant  comfort,  he  finally  approached 
Jeff.  He  was  a  prim  and  particular  man,  and  carefully 
putting  the  tips  of  his  right  hand  fingers  on  the  tips  of 
those  of  his  left  he  sidled  up  to  the  candidate  uneasily 
and  said  in  a  sharp  and  excited  tone  :  ''Mr.  Cottrell,  do 
you  believe  that  God,  for  Christ's  sake,  has  freely  for- 
given all  of  your  sins  ?  " 

Jeff  looked  up  in  a  sudden  and  startling  way,  and, 
twisting  his  skeleton  frame  into  imj)ossible  shapes,  or 
rather  out  of  all  shape,  and  setting  his  piercing  eyes 
upon  the  face  of  the  evangelist,  said  in  his  quick  and 
energetic  way  :  "Don'  kno'  ;  ca'  tell ;  wish  I  did  kno'  ; 
I  got  a  heap  of  sins  and  I  wish  they  was  all  forgiven,  but 
when  you  ask  me,  ' Has  God  don'  it?'  I  couldn't  tell  you 
ter  save  my  life." 

Alas  for  the  discomfited  evangelist.  He  fell  back  in 
sore  disorder  and  seemed  almost  ready  to  quit  the  field. 
But  he  came  again.  "Mr.  Cottrell,"  he  resumed,  with 
his  finger-tips  remarshalled  for  the  new  attack,  "do  you 
feel  that  you  have  been  converted  from  sin  unto  God?" 

Open  and  honest  was  Jeff  and  set  on  telling  the  truth, 
but  grievously  confused,  and  so  he  said,  "Never  heard 
about  that ;  don'  kno'  what  'tis  ;  don'  mean  no  harm, 
but  don'  kno'  'bout  being  converted  to  God." 

To  me  there  was  boundless  pathos  in  Jeff's  words. 
They  knocked  Brother  Sanderson  out  of  his  reckonings 


318  ALOKG  THE  TEAIL 

and  he  could  say  no  more.  It  was  liis  way  to  ask  every 
candidate  the  same  questions,  and  when  he  found  that 
they  would  not  work  in  Jeff's  case  he  had  nothing  else  to 
fall  back  on.  The  situation  was  oppressive  and  things 
were  at  a  standstill.  Coming  to  my  feet  I  walked  up  to 
Jeff  and  in  an  offhand  way  said  :  *'  Jeff,  tell  us  what  you 
came  up  here  for  ?  " 

An  unworldly  light  flashed  instantly  over  his  thin  and 
tawny  face,  and  with  a  simplicity  that  was  eloquence 
itself  he  said  :  ^'  I  hear  you  say  las'  night  that  folks  what 
want  to  jine  this  church  mus'  come  up  here  on  this  bench 
and  I  thought  I'd  come,  'cans'  I  wants  ter  jine." 

A  sight  of  him  at  that  moment  was  something  to  re- 
member. The  power  to  say  something  that  he  was  sure 
of,  gave  him  steadiness  and  courage  and  so  I  caught  him 
with  another  question  :  ^' Why  do  you  wish  to  join  this 
church?" 

The  reason  was  within  him  and  all  of  his  confusion  and 
hesitation  dropped  away  as  he  took  up  and  told  the 
story. 

''Las'  night,"  he  said,  rather  slowly  at  first,  ''when 
the  meetin'  brook  up  I  started  home  'roun'  the  moun- 
tain ,•  nuver  saw  it  so  dark  in  my  life  ;  I  mighty  nigh  felt 
scared ;  but  you  kno'  I  ain't  afraid  ;  I  dun  hunt  'roun^ 
dese  mountains  many  nights  when  'twas  dark  as  pitch 
and  by  myse'f,  but  I  never  got  rattled  tel  las'  night.  I 
see  folks  ahead  of  me  with  a  light  wood  torch  and  I 
hollered  to  'em  and  set  out  runnin'  to  ketch  'em.  As  I 
was  dashin'  along  de  hillside  I  hooked  my  foot  and  down 
I  went  and  de  fust  thing  I  kno'  I  start  roUin'  down  de 
hill.  I  rolled  and  rolled  till  I  tho't  dat  I  was  sinkin' 
down  under  de  wrath  of  an  angry  God.  I  felt  dat  He 
had  let  me  loose  and  I  was  'bout  to  roll  down  into  de 
darkness  of  de  pit.  'O  Lord,'  I  cried,  'I  am  lost,  I 
am  lost :  save  me,  save  me.'     I  kno'd  den  dat  none  but 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  319 

God  c^ud  save  me  and  I  fluug  myse'f  on  Him.  De  fust 
thing  I  kno'  I  stopped  rollin'  and  thar  I  was  kinder  ca'm 
and  felt  that  God^s  arm  was  under  me  and  I  was  not  'fraid. 
While  I  lay  thar  I  saw  sumthin'  flash.  I  don'  reck'n  it 
was  nothin'  ;  it  look  like  it  was  a  real  flash  and  befo'  I 
knew  it  it  read,  ^ By  this  yer  kno'/  and  I  said,  'Kno' 
what?  I  wish  I  did  kno',  for  it  look  like  I  don'  kno' 
nothin','  an'  den  it  kinder  flashed  out  and  I  lay  dar  jes' 
as  cool  and  nice  and  felt  the  arm  was  under  me  still. 

''  Pres'ntly  I  see  it  flash  agin.  'Twan't  any  light,  yer 
understan' ;  only  in  my  mind,  but  it  looked  plain  as 
day,  'passed  from  death  unto  life.'  I  say,  'Wat  dat 
mean  ? '  and  I  feel  somehow  dat  God  had  snatched  me 
from  death  an'  hell  and  done  giv  me  life.  I  never  felt  so 
quiet  an'  so  happy  in  my  life  j  I  knew  His  arms  mus'  be 
under  me. 

"  After  while,  it  flash  out  agin  and  in  my  mind  I  saw 
it  plain  as  de  mornin'  sun, — 'cause  yer  luv  de  bruthrin. 
I  said,  'Who  is  ther  bruthrin?'  for  I  kno'  nuthin'  'bout 
de  bruthrin,  but  it  shined  so  before  my  mind  I  say  it 
mus'  mean  dem  folks  down  at  de  meetings,  for  nuv'r  was 
sich  folks  like  dem.  I  hear  'em  pray  fur  me  ;  I  hear  dar 
heb'nly  songs  and  dey  mus'  be  de  bruthrin.  Jus'  den 
the  flash  gits  out  and  fur  de  fust  time  I  gits  to  luvin'  you 
same  as  my  bruther.  Den  I  lay  thar  and  my  heart  look 
lik'  it  will  break  op'n  with  luv,  an'  I  kno'd  sho'  dat  de 
evurlastin'  arms  of  God  was  clean  'roun'  me.  De  flash 
got  away,  but  I  was  somehow  feelin'  as  if  heav'n  warn't 
very  fur  ofl". 

"Den  it  look  like  de  diffrunt  pieces  of  de  flash  cum 
tergethur.  I  nevur  heard  'bout  it  before,  so  fur  as  I  kin 
remembur,  an'  I  didn't  kno'  whar  it  come  from,  but  dar 
it  was  right  befor'  me,  dat  you  might  kno'  '  dat  you  dun 
pass  from  death  unto  life '  'cans'  you  luv  de  bruthrin.  It 
all  looks  mighty  new  and  odd  ter  me,  and  I  can't  tell  what 


320  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

God  lias  dan  'bout  my  sius  uor  my  soul,  but  Fm  dead 
ceriiu  'bout  loviu'  de  brutbrin.  Maybe  I  aiu'  fit  fer  de 
church  an'  I  feel  I  ain't,  and  ef  yer  think  I  won'  do  I 
shan't  make  any  fuss  'bout  it;  only  it  looks  kinder  like 
home  ter  me  here,  a  kinder  fam'ly,  an'  I'd  be  de  proudes' 
in  de  wor'l  ter  be  one  of  yer." 

By  this  time  Jeff  was  fairly  transfigured.  He  had  be- 
come wondrously  di^amatic  in  his  story,  had  straightened 
up  and  was  gesticulating  until  he  was  talking  almost  as 
much  with  his  hands  and  eyes,  his  smiles  and  tears  as  he 
was  with  his  lips.  A  spell  of  unworldly  power  was  on 
the  people  and  before  them  they  beheld  a  new  child  of 
God. 

"When  he  came  to  a  final  pause,  neither  the  pastor  nor 
the  people  seemed  quite  sure  of  their  footing.  Jeff  had 
not  answered  the  regular  questions  and  had  launched  out 
on  new  fields.  Ought  they  to  take  a  man  who  didn't 
know  whether  his  sins  were  forgiven  or  that  his  soul 
had  been  converted  ?  Even  though  their  hearts  burned 
within  them  they  hung  in  doubt  and  no  one  seemed  dis- 
posed to  take  the  lead. 

''  Jeff,"  said  I  to  him,  ^'  do  you  feel  towards  this  peo- 
ple as  you  did  not  feel  before  ? ' ' 

His  eyes  swept  the  crowd  and  he  broke  into  a  rip- 
pling, contagious,  soulful  laugh  as  his  eyes  swam  in 
tears.  At  last  his  lips  found  speech  and  he  said  simply, 
"Love  'em?  Too  much  ter  tell!"  He  could  get  no 
further.  I  stepped  back  to  the  little  pulpit  and  facing 
the  company  I  said,  "Brethren,  the  old  Jeff  is  gone  and 
we  shall  see  his  face  no  more.  This  is  the  new  Jeff,  the 
brand  snatched  from  the  burning  ;  the  man  who  has 
passed  from  death  unto  life  ;  the  man  with  a  new  heart ; 
the  lover  of  the  brethren.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  him.  If 
he  loves  you  he'll  never  hurt  you  nor  your  church.  I 
move  that  you  receive  him  for  baptism." 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  321 

When  the  vote  was  taken  Jeff  was  filled  with  such 
grateful  surprise  that  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  in  a  mo- 
ment his  mountain  brethren  thronged  around  him  and 
gave  him  a  welcome,  the  news  of  which  the  angels  must 
have  carried  to  heaven. 

With  that  service  my  work  in  that  meeting  ceased  and 
in  a  day  or  two  I  quit  the  neighborhood,  and  it  was 
nearly  twenty  years  before  I  visited  that  mountain  vale 
again.  The  Civil  War  had  come  with  its  wreck  and 
desolation,  and  my  recollection  of  Jeff  Cottrell  had  been 
written  over  many  a  time  with  the  pen  of  iron.  The 
little  church  in  the  valley  had  prospered.  It  had  erected 
a  new  house  of  worship,  and  in  the  exuberance  of  its  joy 
it  had  invited  the  Strawberry  Association  to  hold  its 
annual  session  with  them.  It  was  laid  upon  me  as  the 
representative  of  Christian  education  to  attend  that  meet- 
ing. I  entered  the  valley  on  the  afternoon  before  the 
Association  was  to  meet  and  was  delighted  to  mark  the 
signs  of  improvement  in  roads,  in  buildings  and  in  farms. 
These  working  people  were  the  first  to  prosper  after  the 
war,  since  they  had  no  shattered  fortunes  to  lament  and 
their  own  rough,  powerful  arms  as  their  capital.  As 
on  the  next  morning  I  ascended  to  the  green  plateau  on 
which  the  old  log  church  had  stood,  I  beheld  a  modest 
and  beautiful  framed  house,  with  its  snow-white  walls 
and  its  green  blinds,  and  it  was  lovely  indeed  to  my  ej^es 
as  it  stood  embowered  in  its  park  of  chestnut  and  oak.  I 
hailed  the  changes  with  joy  unutterable. 

Twenty  years  had  played  havoc  with  forms  and  faces 
and  as  I  gazed  on  the  groups  of  people  chatting  here  and 
there  I  felt  myself  a  stranger.  Only  a  few  seemed  to 
know  me  and  one  or  two  of  them  timidly  advanced  and 
shook  my  hand.  Strolling  across  the  ground  I  was  ac- 
costed by  an  elderly  man  with  a  limp  in  his  gait  who 
greeted  me  with  a  pathetic  touch  of  hospitality. 


322  ALONG  THE  THAIL 

*'Good-morniDg,  brother,"  he  said  most  cordially. 
* '  We  are  all  glad  to  see  you,  and  Tvould  you  not  like  to 
have  a  glass  of  our  cool  mountain  water  1"  I  turned  and 
saw  that  he  had  a  pitcher  in  one  hand  and  a  goblet  in  the 
other  and  in  some  half- conscious  way  I  felt  the  spell  of 
his  earnest,  but  unrecognized  tone  of  voice.  My  mind 
must  have  been  absorbed  by  other  things,  for  I  did  not 
give  the  man  a  full  and  searching  look.  I  thanked  him 
briefly,  telling  him  that  I  thought  it  w^as  noble  in  him  to 
treat  a  stranger  in  that  way,  but  remarking  that  I  had  come 
by  the  spring  and  had  quenched  my  thirst  at  the  fountain. 

''  Oh,  don't  thank  me,  brother,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  self- 
depreciation.  '^It  is  nothing  at  all;  I  want  no  praise  ; 
they  told  me  the  bruthren,  just  loads  of  'em,  was  coming 
and  that  we  mus'  all  do  what  we  could  for  them.  You  see 
I  live  too  fur  ter  get  any  of  'em  home  with  me,  and  I  ain't 
fix'd  up  fur  'em  anyway,  but  I  felt  I  mus'  do  somethin'. 
So  I  went  down  ter  Liberty  last  week  and  got  me  this 
pitcher  and  goblet.  I  know'  d  ther  bruthren  would  come  a 
long  ways  and  git  hot  and  thirsty  and  mighn't  kno'  whar 
the  spring  was,  an'  I  thought  I'd  keep  my  pitcher  full  of 
our  mountain  water,— we  got  de  bes'  water  in  the  wor'l 
up  here— an'  I  would  give  ev'rybody  a  drink." 

There  was  something  in  that  nameless  and  gentle  per- 
sonality which  gripped  me.  In  some  way  I  felt  the  thrill 
of  it  and  yet  some  mightier  impulse  bore  me  towards  the 
church,  and  so  I  turned  away  from  the  man  and  started 
towards  the  church. 

"  Bruther,"  he  said  rather  decidedly,  ''  you  know  what 
ther  Marster  said  'bout  ther  cup  of  cold  water  and  I 
thought  He'd  like  fer  me  ter  do  it." 

His  words  sped  to  my  heart  and  drew  me  back.  As  I 
looked  upon  him,  bent  in  form,  with  his  scattered  grayish 
hair  and  a  look  of  wondrous  kindliness  in  his  eyes,  I 
felt  that  I  had  seen  him  before. 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  323 

""Who  are  you?"  I  asked,  recognizing  him  in  the 
moment  of  my  asking.  For  several  pregnant  seconds  he 
gazed  at  me  until  suddenly  his  face  flushed  crimson  and 
his  lips  quivered  helplessly.  Bending  down  and  setting 
his  pitcher  and  goblet  on  the  ground,  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh, 
my  father  in  heaven,  can  it  be  ?  Is  it  you  sure  enough  1 " 
He  absolutely  wrung  his  hands  in  the  ardor  of  his  joy. 

"  And  this  is  Jeff,"  I  said,  and  our  hands  were  locked 
in  a  mighty  grasp.  He  mixed  his  laughter  and  his  tears 
but  had  no  words.  I  broke  the  silence  by  simply  remark- 
ing,  '^I  suppose  you  still  love  the  brethren,  Jeff." 

He  burst  into  a  peal  of  happy  laughter  and  said,  ''  I  un- 
derstand you're  talkin'  'bout  dat  night  up  thar  in  de  moun- 
tains when  I  fell  and  rolled  down  de  mountain,  ain'tyerl 
I  thought  you'd  er  forgot  that  night  long  befo'  this. 
Yes,  I  still  love  'em  ;  love  'em  more  an'  more  and  I  feel 
when  I  do  good  to  them  I'm  doing  hit  fer  my  Marster  and 
ef  I  do  yer  reckon  He  will  forget  me? " 

''No,  Jeff,"  I  said  with  a  full  heart,  ''fear  not;  He  will 
never  forget  you."  Throughout  that  meeting  the  stoop- 
ing brother  with  the  limp  could  be  seen  swinging  with 
irregular  step  over  the  church  grounds,  pitcher  and  goblet 
in  hand,  offering  the  cup  of  cold  water  to  old  and  young, 
rich  and  poor.     It  was  a  task  that  did  not  weary. 

During  the  meeting  I  asked  many  questions  concerning 
Jeff. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  one,  "  of  course  Jeff  is  still  a  member  of 
our  church.  It  would  kill  him  dead  if  we  should  put 
him  out ;  and  besides  he  is  the  best  we  have.  He  does 
the  loving  for  all  the  church.  It  is  impossible  to  be  mad 
where  Jeff  is  and  Jeff  is  always  on  hand.  He  misses 
nothing  at  the  church  and  he  honestly  believes  that  we 
have  the  best  church  on  the  earth  and  the  best  people 
in  it." 

One  brother  seemed  a  trifle  embarrassed  in  talking 


324  ALONG  THE  TKAIL 

to  me  about  Jeff.  He  said  that  Jeff  was  improvident  and 
would  die  poor  if  he  had  a  million  a  year.  But  he  was 
quick  to  tell  me  not  to  think  that  Jeff  was  idle  or  hated 
work  or  spent  money  foolishly.  He  admitted  that  he 
worked  hard  and  was  kind  to  his  family,  but  he  seemed 
to  think  it  was  to  Jeff's  reproach  that  he  never  had  any 
money.  He  said  that  some  of  the  brethren  were  quite  out 
with  Jeff  for  his  reckless  and  unthinking  habit  of  giving 
away  practically  everything  he  had,  and  that  the  deacons 
had  talked  with  him  about  it  time  and  again.  The  charge 
against  Jeff  constituted  a  new  ground  for  church  discipline, 
and  I  wished  secretly  that  he  might  be  arraigned  before 
his  church  as  a  spiritual  spendthrift,  but  I  believe  the 
case  never  got  quite  so  far. 

That  was  my  last  meeting  with  Jeff.  Twenty  years 
had  done  great  things  for  him.  His  face  was  ennobled. 
His  manner  had  shed  its  crudities  ;  his  waggery  had  been 
refined  into  wit ;  his  voice  was  no  longer  shrill  and  cut- 
ting ;  his  language  revealed  the  effects  of  better  com- 
panionships ;  his  knowledge  of  the  Bible  was  deep  and 
helpful  and  his  life  was  radiant  with  the  light  of  salva- 
tion. He  never  attained  to  leadership  among  his  brethren 
except  that  in  all  the  finer  qualities  of  Christian  character 
he  was  an  example  to  all.  He  was  happily  free  from 
every  trace  of  ambition.  He  felt  unfit  for  every  office 
and  wanted  none.  The  strength  of  his  life  was  in  its 
transparency,  its  trueness,  its  happy  harmony  with  God. 
It  looked  as  if  his  business  on  the  earth  was  to  show  the 
intrinsic  value  and  power  of  a  life,  which  while  incapable 
of  high  achievement,  was  four-square  towards  God  and 
man.  Everybody  believed  in  Jeff  except  those  who  did 
not  believe  in  God,  and  not  a  few  came  to  believe  in  God 
because  they  believed  so  thoroughly  in  Jeff. 

Nearly  twenty  more  years  took  their  silent  flight,  and 
during  all  that  while  I  heard  little  or  nothing  concerning 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  325 

my  now  aged  friend,  Jeff  Cottrell.  About  ten  years  ago  I 
met  a  lady,  a  member  of  the  mountain  church,  and  I 
quickly  inquired  after  my  saintly  old  brother. 

A  look  of  surprise  marked  her  face.  ' '  Hadn'  t  you 
heard  ? '  ^  she  inquired  with  emotion.  ' '  Why,  he  died  two 
years  ago,  and  I  wonder  that  the  fact  had  not  come  to 
you.'^ 

I  confess  that  the  death  of  my  beloved  Jeff  filled  me 
with  pensive  sorrow.  I  accounted  him  a  unique  character, 
a  trophy  of  redeeming  grace,  and  one  who  had  played  a 
rare  and  memorable  part  in  the  drama  of  life.  Far 
stronger  than  my  grief  at  his  going  was  my  anxiety  to 
hear  how  he  went.  It  is  peculiarly  interesting  to  me  to 
see  how  people  die.  There  is  such  vital  relationship  be- 
tween life  and  death  that  they  serve  to  explain  and  illus- 
trate each  other.  Those  who  knew  Jeff  Cottrell  would 
naturally  enough  look  for  something  characteristic  and 
notable  in  his  way  of  dying. 

*'  What  of  his  last  days?''  I  asked  the  lady.  '<  Oh," 
she  said,  *^you  know  that  Mr.  Cottrell  was  in  a  class  by 
himself.  We  had  no  other  exactly  like  him.  He  was 
our  saint  and  nobody  could  contest  his  right  to  canoniza- 
tion. There  was  a  quality  in  his  religion  so  mellow, 
flexible,  trustful  and  tolerant  that  no  one  could  find  a 
pretext  for  thinking  ill  of  him.  We  did  not  think  of  him 
as  great,  but  as  true,  without  guile,  never  seeking  his 
own,  and  a  stranger  to  envy.  His  life  had  no  angles,  no 
cross  purposes  and  no  enmities  to  gratify."  This  testi- 
monial was  invigorating.  There  had  been  no  breakdown 
ou  the  road.  His  life  grew  in  brightness  to  the  perfect 
day,  and  he  had  gone  up  to  heaven  in  a  chariot  of  victory. 
Some  time  after  this  conversation  I  was  travelling  from 
Roanoke  to  Lynchburg  and  a  lady  ventured  to  accost 
me,  saying  that  she  had  a  matter  that  was  profoundly 
interesting    to   her    concerning    which  she  wished  to 


326  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

speak  with  me.  It  proved  to  be  that  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion was  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Cottrell.  She  said  with 
directness  that  there  were  things  that  she  desired  to  give 
concerning  her  father's  death,  and  as  we  could  not  be  to- 
gether long  she  made  haste  to  tell  her  story.  His  end  came 
by  the  wear  out  of  the  machinery,  rather  than  by  disease. 
In  his  last  days  it  was  growingly  difficult  for  him  to  get 
to  his  church.  But  his  love  of  worship  was  predominant. 
It  towered  over  every  interest  and  fought  a  mighty  battle 
with  the  infirmities  of  his  last  days.  He  could  not  bear 
to  lose  a  service.  Churchgoing  with  him  was  fellowship 
with  God  and  with  the  people.  Even  when  he  reached 
his  church  breathless  and  had  no  strength  to  hear  or  pray 
or  sing,  he  found  it  the  best  thing  of  earth  to  appear  in 
Zion.  There  was  worship  even  in  his  devout  going. 
There  were  only  two  points  in  his  last  days  which  seemed 
in  any  measure  to  cause  him  disturbance. 

One  ground  of  his  dissatisfaction  was  that  his  family  and 
the  leading  brethren  of  the  church  had  felt  that  he  had  not 
handled  his  worldly  affairs  with  intelligence  and  good  judg- 
ment. They  did  not  chide  him  for  the  lack  of  energy  or  a 
proper  desire  to  make  money,  but  they  thought  that  he 
lacked  discrimination  and  thrift  in  the  use  of  his  money. 
It  was  sometimes  charged  that  he  gave  away  too  much. 
Now  he  did  not  care  for  this  charge,  except  that  he  felt  that 
he  was  not  understood.  It  stung  him  to  feel  that  he  was 
suspected  of  not  estimating  the  value  of  money  and  of  not 
exercising  due  deliberation  in  getting  rid  of  it.  He  was 
not  willing  to  be  considered  a  fool  about  money.  It  was 
not  a  case  of  mortified  pride  but  a  rather  stalwart  con- 
viction that  he  had  been  misjudged  and  he  was  not  will- 
ing to  die  without  a  proper  vindication.  He  determined 
to  bring  the  matter  to  an  issue.  Inviting  the  pastor  and 
some  of  his  brethren  of  the  church  to  come  to  his  house 
on  a  given  day,  and  bringing  the  members  of  the  family 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  327 

together  at  the  same  time,  he  made  what  I  suppose  was 
beyond  all  denial  the  most  impressive  and  convincing 
statement  of  his  life.  He  thanked  the  brethren  that  they 
had  come  and  gave  thanks  to  God  that  he  was  strong 
enough  to  tell  them  what  was  in  his  heart.  He  said  that 
it  was  a  matter  which  he  felt  had  never  been  understood, 
and  while  they  had  all  been  lovely  to  him  in  many  ways 
he  could  not  be  happy  until  he  had  uncovered  his  heart 
and  told  them  all  that  he  felt.  He  said  that  soon  after  en- 
tering into  the  kingdom  of  God  he  found  himself  greatly 
crippled  by  his  inability  to  read  and  by  his  ignorance 
of  the  Bible.  He  told  how  that  soon  after  his  conversion 
one  passage  of  Scripture,— just  a  fragment,  in  fact,  became 
lodged  in  his  mind,  and  from  that  time  became  the  lamp 
of  his  life.  That  passage  was,—"  Seek  ye  first  the  king- 
dom of  God  and  His  righteousness,"  and  that  he  got  from 
it  the  idea  that  to  seek  the  kingdom  was  to  ask  that  Jesus 
Christ  should  sit  upon  the  throne  of  his  being  and 
reign  without  a  rival,  and  that  in  order  that  he  might  se- 
cure the  reign  of  Christ  within  himself  he  must  put  his 
religion  first, — always  first  in  point  of  time  and  always 
first  in  point  of  preference, — that  Jesus  and  His  claims 
must  always  be  put  first.  He  said  that  the  word  ' '  first '  ^ 
answered  all  questions  with  him,  that  it  stood  over  him  and 
settled  what  he  had  to  do  with  all  that  he  had.  It  be- 
came a  rule  with  him,  and  in  time  a  habit.  It  led  him 
to  do  things  that  he  had  never  thought  of  doing,  to  give 
up  things  that  he  loved  to  do.  He  came  to  put  his 
business,  his  preferences  and  his  family  in  the  second 
place.  It  caught  him  hardest,  at  first,  in  the  matter  of 
money,  of  which  he  never  had  very  much.  When  he  went 
to  the  meetings,  and  when  he  was  told  about  the  things 
of  the  Lord  which  urgently  needed  money,  he  felt  instinc- 
tively that  those  necessities  ranked  the  comforts  and  con- 
veniences of  himself  and  his  family.     He  said  that  often 


323  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

lie  went  to  chuixh  with  no  tliouglit  of  giving,  but  tliat 
the  appeal  set  the  claims  of  his  Master  so  high  that  he 
could  not  hesitate.  He  felt  that  at  times  he  crossed 
the  desires  of  his  family,  but  that  duty  seemed  so  plain 
he  dared  not  disregard  the  call.  He  admitted  that 
sometimes  when  his  brethren  upbraided  him  for  giving 
away  so  much  he  felt  that  he  must  beyond  question  be 
wrong  about  it,  and  that  ofttimes  he  made  vows  that  the 
next  time  he  would  refuse  to  give  or  else  give  less.  It 
stung  him  to  feel  that  his  brethren  and  his  family  regarded 
him  as  a  fool,  and  he  would  persuade  himself  that  the 
matter  was  finally  decided  that  he  would  never  be  whee- 
dled into  giving  so  much  again,  but  that  just  as  soon  as  he 
came  under  the  operation  of  the  command  to  put  the 
kingdom  of  Jesus  Christ  first,  away  would  go  his  money 
and  he  found  that  he  gave  it  in  riotous  delight. 

He  assured  them  that  he  had  not  brought  them  there  to 
condemn  them  nor  to  justify  himself,  but  simply  to  tell 
them  one  thing.  He  said  that  when  that  Scripture  about 
putting  Christ  first,  entered  his  mind  he  thought  that  it 
was  all  there  was  in  the  passage.  It  was  amply  enough  for 
him  since  it  defined  the  law  of  the  kingdom  as  to  the  rank 
and  rating  of  things.  But  he  told  them  that  some  time 
ago  that  passage  was  read  in  his  hearing,  and  to  his  utter 
surprise  he  found  that  there  was  a  promise  attached  to 
the  command,  to  the  effect  that  if  we  did  put  the  kingdom 
over  the  common  things  of  life,  then  all  of  these  common 
things  would  be  added  to  us.  The  doctrine  of  it  all  was 
that  if  we  would  put  God's  cause  first,  that  God  would  be 
responsible  for  our  having  all  the  common  things  of  life. 
''For  years,"  he  said,  '' I  did  not  know  that  he  had  put 
that  clause  in  the  covenant  of  grace.''  He  knew  the 
promises  well  as  to  the  other  world,  but  that  little  promise 
about  bread  and  clothes  had  escaped  him.  He  added  that 
he  did  not  care  to  hold  the  Lord  strictly  to  these  words, 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  329 

but  He  lias  held  Himself  to  tliem.  He  appealed  to  his 
family  to  know  if  they  had  ever  lacked  for  anything,  add- 
iug  that  they  had  not  had  finery  nor  jewels  nor  carriages, 
but  these  they  did  not  need.  But  they  could  not  say  that 
any  good  thing  had  been  withheld  from  them.  It  had 
been  said  by  some  that  he  would  die  at  last  of  starvation 
would  have  to  be  taken  care  of  in  his  old  age.  He 
called  this  up  and  said  in  substance  : 

''Well,  I  am  near  my  end.  The  prophets  have  gone 
astray.  I  call  you  to  know  that  almost  every  man  within 
ten  miles  of  here  has  come  over  these  rough  roads  to  see 
me,  often  loaded  with  nice  things  for  me,  and  many  of  them 
have  come  up  to  my  bed,  pulled  out  their  pocketbooks  and 
held  them  up  before  me  and  said,  '  Mr.  Cottrell,  this  pock- 
etbook  is  yours,  and  if  you  need  anything  call  on  me.' 
I  believe  if  I  should  give  out  the  word  that  I  needed 
money  it  would  come  in  in  hundreds.  But  what  breaks  my 
heart  is  the  goodness  of  the  women.  My  family  willtell  you 
to-day  that  not  a  day  passes  but  what  the  ladies  from  the 
big  houses,  the  ladies  who  ride  in  the  carriages,  whom  I 
am  not  fit  to  visit,  have  crowded  this  house  with  flowers, 
fruits,  nice  things  for  sick  people  to  eat,  far  more  than  I 
needed  or  could  use.  They  have  come  without  asking 
and  they  come  all  the  time.  The  Lord  has  made  all 
the  men  my  brothers  and  all  the  great  ladies  my  sisters, 
and  they  seem  proud  to  serve  me  who  am  less  than 
nothing.  I  tell  you  this  to  show  you  that  God  is  faithful. 
He  keeps  His  little  promises  as  well  as  His  big  ones.  He 
cares  for  our  bodies  as  well  as  our  souls.  The  more  we 
forget  ourselves  the  more  He  remembers  us.  I  shall  pass 
over  the  line  soon,  my  brethren,  and  see  Him  face  to  face. 
I  hope  He  will  not  speak  of  the  little  things  I  have  done 
for  Him  and  I  am  dead  sure  that  while  He  may  find  fault 
with  me  about  many  things  He  will  never  complain  that 
I  gave  too  much. ' '  I  was  told  that  when  Jeff  ended  his  little 


330  ALONG  THE  TKAIL 

sermon  it  was  Pentecost  over  again.  Jeff  was  exhausted 
and  his  heart  thumped  till  you  could  hear  it  all  over  the 
house,  but  the  very  air  seemed  to  be  freighted  with  the 
fragrance  and  fruit  of  the  Celestial  Canaan.  Jeff  was  not 
only  justified  but  glorified. 

Jeff's  daughter  related  another  fact,  so  weird  and  fear- 
some and  yet  withal  so  instructive  that  it  ought  not  to  be 
omitted.  During  his  long  sickness  Jeff  found  himself 
curiously  racked  by  one  view  of  death.  He  said  that  as 
he  faced  the  future  there  was  not  a  cloud  between  him 
and  death.  His  fellowship  with  his  Saviour  excluded  every 
doubt  and  fear,  and  his  soul  rested  in  the  fullest  assurance 
of  being  in  his  Father's  keeping. 

The  same,  he  said,  was  true  as  he  looked  beyond  death. 
The  hills  were  bright  beyond  the  grave.  No  misgiving 
racked  him  concerniug  his  final  salvation.  As  he  put  it, 
''All  is  bright  up  to  death,  but  still  brighter  beyond 
death." 

But  death  itself  cast  a  shadow.  It  had  a  meaning  too 
serious  for  him.  Its  novelty,  its  incidents  and  its  myster- 
ies as  they  appeared  in  the  outlook  depressed  him.  He 
was  afraid  it  would  catch  him  off  his  guard  and  that  he 
would  not  behave  well.  Over  and  over  again  he  spoke 
of  it  to  his  household  until  it  became  something  real, 
tangible,  almost  visible.  He  would  say,  ''It  will  be  all 
right  till  I  get  there,  and  all  right  afterwards.  But  the 
dying  ;  the  thing  itself  makes  me  uneasy.  I  don't  know 
what  I'll  do  when  I  get  there.  It  looks  as  if  there  is  a 
wall  or  a  partition,  and  that  it  is  hard,  and  getting  through 
it  is  what  disturbs  me.  It  looks  about  as  thick  to  me  as  the 
length  of  my  finger.  It  may  melt  when  I  get  there  ;  may 
yield  when  I  touch  it ;  or  it  may  stand  and  be  hard  to 
get  through.  This  bothers  my  mind."  "With  not  a  few, 
we  imagine,  of  the  children  of  faith  Jeff  touches  the  last 
conflict  of  the  soul  in  view  of  death.     After  everything 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  JEFF  331 

else  has  been  conquered  Death  holds  the  field.  Crippled 
and  baffled  he  may  be,  but  the  sight  of  his  sceptre  is  dis- 
turbing. The  fear  of  falling  may  be  gone  and  the  hope 
of  heaven  may  be  cloudless,  but  death  itself, — the  matter 
of  dying, — still  breeds  anxiety.  Even  so  peaceful  and 
unworldly  a  spirit  as  Jeff,  the  matchless  trophy  of  Grace, 
lay  waiting  for  death  and  yet  dreading  the  meeting. 

But  the  final  struggle  had  to  come.  It  came  suddenly. 
The  machinery  of  his  heart  had  rusted.  It  ran  with  jerks 
and  jumps  ;  it  registered  its  movements  in  thumps  ;  the 
harbingers  of  the  dread  event  multiplied  day  by  day  and 
a  holy  seriousness  filled  the  chamber  of  the  sufferer. 

Suddenly  there  was  an  outcry  of  pain,  a  shudder,  one 
quiver  of  the  limbs,  quick  successive  shocks  of  the  heart 
and  a  fast  quitting  of  the  breath.  The  messenger  was  at 
hand  and  Jeff  knew  it  all.  He  raised  his  speechless 
signals  and  his  household  were  around  him.  The  thought 
of  the  past  abided, — he  touched  the  partition  and  found 
it  as  seen  in  the  distance.  In  the  faces  of  his  loved  ones 
he  saw  concern  as  if  they  longed  to  know  as  to  whether 
it  was  resistful  and  hard  to  get  through, — that  separating 
veil  of  which  he^had  talked  so  much.  Vitality  lingered 
in  his  hands  and  stretching  out  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  and  placing  at  its  root  the  forefinger  of  his  left  he 
slowly  moved  it  along  up,  silently  signalling  back  that  he 
was  passing  safely  through  ;  and  when  tip  touched  tip  tri- 
umphant light  mantled  his  worn  face  for  an  instant,  his 
hand  shot  up  for  a  moment  and  dropped  upon  his  breast, 
and  death  was  conquered.  He  was  through  the  veil  and 
his  enfranchised  soul  was  on  its  flight  to  the  Eternal  City. 

Already  the  meek  and  toiling  missionary  had  gone  his 
way.  He  and  his  convert  were  together  again  after  the 
battle  was  over.  The  evangelist  had  found  his  trophy 
and  put  it  at  the  feet  of  his  King. 


XXII 

GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY 

Giving  the  Church  Bible  Away 

I  AM  of  a  denomination  which  has  no  ritual,  and  as  a 
consequence  usages  sometimes  acquire  almost  the 
authority  of  a  law  in  matters  of  comparative  insignif- 
icance, and  things  are  sometimes  done  that  are  unfitting 
and  possibly  at  times  ridiculous. 

I  was  called  to  take  part,  in  company  with  a  number 
of  other  ministers,  in  the  ordination  of  a  young  man,  Mr. 
John  B.  Williams,  to  the  Christian  ministry.  It  is  a 
worthy  custom  with  us  to  make  one  feature  of  an  ordina- 
tion the  presentation  of  a  copy  of  the  Scriptures  to  the 
candidate,  and  very  often  this  proves  an  impressive  and 
instructive  part  of  the  ordaining  service,  as  it  indicates 
our  faith  in  the  supreme  authority  of  the  Scriptures. 

Of  course  the  proper  thing  in  such  exercises  is  for  the 
Bible,  used  on  the  occasion,  to  be  an  actual  present  to  the 
candidate,  made  preferably  by  the  church  or  sometimes 
made  by  the  presbytery,  or  occasionally  furnished  in  some 
other  way. 

On  this  occasion  there  was  no  Bible  in  sight  to  be  given 
to  the  preacher,  and  a  minister,  of  very  florid  rhetoric  and 
a  decidedly  self-conscious  manner,  was  chosen  to  take  the 
part  of  the  Bible  presentation.  He  had  the  candidate 
stand  facing  him,  and  mounting  the  rostrum  he  made  quite 
an  ornate  and  taking  speech.  When  he  reached  the  point 
where  the  giving  of  the  Bible  would  naturally  come  in, 
he  seized  the  ponderous  pulpit  copy  of  the  Bible,  weigh- 

332 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    333 

ing  possibly  fifteen  or  twenty  pounds,  in  liis  hands  and 
stepping  to  the  edge  of  the  platform  said  : 

''And  now,  my  brother,  it  affords  me  the  very  highest 
pleasure  to  present  to  you  this  copy  of  God's  Word,''  and 
was  in  the  act  of  transferring  the  book  into  the  hands  of 
the  young  man. 

"  Whose  Bible  is  that  T'  I  asked  in  a  tone  of  astonished 
inquiry. 

''Why  this,"  said  the  speaker,  "I  suppose,  belongs  to 
this  church." 

He  was  evidently  flurried  by  the  interruption. 

"Has  the  church  authorized  you  to  give  away  this 
Bible  ?  "  I  asked  in  a  very  serious  tone. 

"  Well,— no,"  replied  the  perturbed  orator  on  the  plat- 
form.    "  Nothing  has  been  said  to  me  on  the  subject." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  you  are  giving  away  what  does  not 
belong  to  you." 

"You  see,  doctor,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  really  giving 
the  book  away  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  form  we  go  through." 

"  Then  am  I  to  understand  that  you  are  merely  pre- 
tending to  give  this  Bible  away  when  at  the  same  time 
you  are  not  giving  it  to  the  candidate  ?  Is  this  a  proper 
affair  to  be  enacted  on  an  occasion  so  serious  as  this?" 

By  this  time  the  brother  bore  all  the  marks  of  abject 
wretchedness.  He  turned  with  an  air  of  desperate  con- 
fusion and  said,  "  If  you  really  object  to  what  I  am  doing 
I'll  put  the  book  back  and  omit  this  part  of  the  cere- 
mony." 

Things  were  brought  to  a  critical  pass.  The  discom- 
fited orator  was  evidently  at  the  end  of  his  row  and  the 
people  shared  in  the  embarrassment.  It  is  not  contended 
here  that  this  was  the  wisest  manner  in  which  the  almost 
burlesque  presentation  of  the  Bible  should  be  dealt  with. 

Be  it  said,  however,  that  so  many  of  our  ministers  had 
fallen  into  this  unbecoming  habit  on  ordination  occasions 


334  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

that  it  really  seemed  necessary  to  start  a  revolution  even 
though  it  amounted  to  a  shock.  It  so  chanced  that  the 
young  man  who  was  being  set  apart  to  the  ministry  had 
attended  my  church  in  Eichmond  while  taking  his  college 
course.  He  was  a  charming  singer  and  had  rendered 
valuable  service  in  our  choir  and  also  in  my  Boys'  Meet- 
ing by  his  skill  and  leadership  as  a  vocalist.  It  became 
known  that  I  was  going  to  his  ordination  and  my  church 
as  a  token  of  grateful  recognition  put  in  my  hands  a  hand- 
some copy  of  the  Scriptures  to  be  given  to  him  on  that  oc- 
casion. I  had  also  trained  a  boy  who  was  in  the  crowd 
at  a  given  signal  to  step  forward  and  hand  this  Bible 
to  the  sorely  perplexed  brother  who  had  been  wrecked  in 
his  oratorical  flight.  As  the  chairman  of  the  meeting  I 
also  occupied  the  platform,  and  just  as  the  boy  passed  the 
Bible  into  his  hands  I  arose  aod  after  paying  a  little  trib- 
ute to  the  young  man  and  explaining  the  way  in  which 
the  Bible  had  come  I  recxuested  the  brother  to  present  it 
to  the  candidate  with  the  good  wishes  and  congratulations 
of  my  people  in  Richmond.  It  is  due  to  the  brother  to 
say  that  he  speedily  recovered  his  equanimity  and  en- 
thusiasm, and  presented  the  Bible  in  a  way  evidently  satis- 
factory to  himself  and  to  the  fully  restored  good  humor 
and  interest  of  the  audience. 

But  the  story  of  that  attempted  giving  away  of  the 
church  Bible  took  wiugs  and  has  been  flying  far  and  wide 
since  that  time,  and  it  may  be  safely  said  that  it  will  be 
many  a  long  summer  day  before  another  case  is  told  of 
an  attempt  on  the  part  of  a  preacher  to  give  away  a 
church  Bible  to  a  newly  ordained  Baptist  preacher. 

During  the  great  Moody  meetings  in  Richmond,  a  fine 
but  quite  eccentric  old  minister  was  called  on  to  pray. 
He  had  a  voice  that  uttered  itself  in  mild  explosions  with 
intervals  of  the  inaudible,  and  was  noted  far  and  wide 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    335 

for  his  patience  and  fidelity  in  filling  liis  prayers  with 
the  minutest  detail  connected  with  everything  he  said. 
On  the  occasion  mentioned  he  prayed  at  great  length  for 
those  who,  on  that  particular  night,  had  stood  for  prayer. 
And  then  he  went  back  and  prayed  thus,  ' '  We  desire,  O 
Father  of  mercies,  to  pray  also  for  the  conversion  of  the 
thirty-two  persons  who  stood  up  to-night,  if  our  memory 
is  not  at  fault  as  to  the  number,  and  also  for  the 
twenty-six  who  stood  up  last  night,  if  our  memory  serves 
us  right,  though  it  may  be,  dear  Father,  that  some  of 
those  who  stood  up  to-night  may  have  also  stood  up  last 
night,  not  being  fully  satisfied  in  their  minds  as  to  their 
spiritual  condition.  In  a  word.  Master,  look  into  all  these 
cases  and  deal  with  them  according  to  their  peculiar 
necessities.'^ 

In  the  early  part  of  my  public  life  I  became  acquainted 
with  a  maiden  lady  whose  story  ought  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. She  was  celebrated  far  more  for  intelligence  than 
for  beauty  and  had  a  far  finer  faculty  for  general  useful- 
ness than  she  had  for  winning  a  husband.  Years  crept 
in  on  her  and  she  frankly  admitted  that  the  matrimonial 
outlook  was  disappointing,  but  with  unruffled  serenity 
she  declared  that  personally  she  preferred  not  to  marry  ; 
her  point  was  that  she  preferred  not  to  be  tied  down  to 
the  service  of  one  ordinary  and  exacting  man  and  she 
insisted  that  she  never  would  marry  unless  Providence 
resorted  to  compulsory  measures  ;  in  fact,  she  went  to  the 
extent  of  saying  that  if  she  became  forty  without  a  hus- 
band, she  would  accept  it  as  a  pleasing  token  of  heaven 
that  she  was  exempt  from  marital  duty  and  was  left  free 
to  devote  herself  to  such  forms  of  benevolences  and 
religious  work  as  came  her  way. 

Sure  enough,  forty  came  and  came  before  she  got  any 
news  from  the  man  of  fate.     She  celebrated  the  event 


336  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

with  happy  demonstrations  and  declared  that  hers  was 
the  happiest  fate  that  heaven  could  have  decreed  for  her. 
She  went  it  that  way  until  she  was  in  her  later  fifties, 
and  then  in  a  very  sudden  way  she  heard  a  voice  that 
went  straight  to  that  centre  of  her  being  which  had  been 
long  walled  off  from  all  intrusion. 

A  modest,  stiff-jointed,  white-haired  deacon  of  the 
church  was  called  to  bury  his  wife.  There  was  mourning 
in  the  land,  and  the  deacon  himself  was  declared  to  be 
heart-broken  and  evidently  he  was — for  a  period  of  some 
six  or  eight  months  or  more. 

One  Monday  morning  he  drove  over  to  the  home  of 
another  deacon,  who  was  a  brother  of  the  unmarriage- 
able  and  elderly  Miss  Sally.  It  chanced  that  her  brother 
was  out  on  the  farm  and  it  fell  to  her  lot  to  welcome  the 
bereaved,  whose  hat  still  carried  the  symbol  of  mourning. 
She  gave  him  a  great  welcome,  descanted  generously  on 
the  noble  qualities  of  his  departed  spouse,  expressed  sym- 
pathy, that  could  not  be  adequately  expressed,  with  the 
deacon,  and  administered  religious  consolation  with  an 
extravagant  hand.  The  deacon  was  but  faintly  responsive, 
though  gratefully  accepting  the  kind  things  said  of  his 
wife  and  said  also  of  his  af&iction.  He  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  anyway,  and  in  a  combat  with  the  conversational 
abilities  of  Miss  Sally,  he  stood  only  half  a  chance,  but 
even  hair-lipped  and  tongue-tied  widowers  usually  make 
themselves  heard  sooner  or  later,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  led  Miss  Sally  to  understand  that  about  the 
only  balm  that  could  heal  his  wounded  spirit  would  be 
her  free  and  undivided  affection. 

She  was  duly  shocked  but  not  fatally.  She  expressed 
surprise  in  several  dialects,  spoke  of  her  determination, 
made  long  ago,  not  to  marry,  and  finally  rounded  up 
with  the  assertion  that  she  could  not  even  consider  the 
proposition  until  she  had  consulted  with  her  brother 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    337 

James,  and  uutil  she  could  have  time  for  considering  the 
matter  from  quite  a  number  of  standpoints. 

As  for  time,  the  deacon  intimated  that  time  was  a 
scarce  article  with  him,  and  waiting  a  lonesome  business, 
and  he  also  inquired  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  her  brother 
James.  He  was  informed  that  her  brother  was  in  the 
corn-field,  below  the  garden,  and  Miss  Sally  obligingly- 
consented  to  have  him  sent  for.  She  slipped  out  and 
summoned  a  colored  boy  and  ordered  him  to  go  after  his 
Mars'  James,  and  to  tell  him  that  he  was  wanted  at  the 
house  at  once.  The  boy  was  also  ordered  to  "go  quick. '^ 
I  knew  the  said  brother  James  quite  well.  An  odd, 
simple-hearted,  unsystematic  and  excitable  man  he  was, 
but  honest  as  the  daylight,  and  he  had  long  ago  laid  his 
will  at  the  feet  of  the  female  department  of  his  household. 
He  steamed  into  the  yard  in  a  few  minutes,  almost  dead 
with  palpitation  of  the  heart,  supposing  that  the  house 
was  on  fire  or  somebody  was  dead.  Miss  Sally  drew  him 
aside,  told  the  new  secret  and  asked  his  counsel.  For 
once  brother  James  bore  himself  resplendently.  He  de- 
clared that  her  wish  was  his  law,  and  expressed  the  opin- 
ion that  she  was  old  enough  to  decide  for  herself.  She 
returned  to  the  parlor  where  the  deacon,  with  his  snowy 
locks  and  enchanted  soul,  awaited  her  with  anxiety. 

*' Well,"  she  said,  "I  have  had  an  interview  with  my 
brother  James,  and  he  looks  upon  the  proposition  as  one 
that  is  honorable  to  our  family  and  complimentary  to  me, 
and  readily  gives  his  full  consent  that  you  and  I  shall 
cast  our  lots  together." 

Two  weeks  afterwards  a  staid  little  group,  including  a 
preacher,  gathered  in  the  country  parlor,  and  Miss  Sally's 
life  purpose  to  be  an  old  maid  floated  away,  and  she 
bloomed  out  in  modest  bridal  array  as  a  deaconess. 

Concerning  Miss  Sally  there  is  a  story  which  will  be 
very  slow  to  die.     She  was  a  woman  so  unworldly  in  her 


338  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

spirit  and  so  abstemious  in  her  tastes,  that  she  allowed 
herself  very  rare  contact  with  aught  that  savored  of 
worldliness.  Now  and  then  there  would  grow  up  in  her 
a  yearning  for  things  visible,  sensational  and  exciting, 
but  her  feelings  were  always  walled  off  from  anything 
that  suggested  the  least  moral  impropriety.  For  a  long 
time  she  stood  aloof  from  the  agricultural  fair  which  met 
every  autumn  in  Richmond.  The  occasion  took  on  too 
much  sport,  noise  and  gaming  for  her.  As  from  time  to 
time  she  heard  of  the  fine  horses,  cattle,  fowls,  swine, 
machinery,  ladies'  work  and  other  things  which  seemed 
to  her  as  innocent  as  the  very  trees  which  stood  in  the 
yard  of  the  old  Bethlehem  Church,  she  had  an  acute 
hankering  after  a  visit  to  the  fair,  and  finally  it  was  de- 
cided that  she  should  go.  She  had  rich  and  admiring 
friends  in  the  city  and  notified  a  gentleman,  who  was 
always  called  Josiah,  that  she  would  be  down  on  a  certain 
morning  and  would  expect  him  to  be  her  escort  for  the  day. 
A  finer  gentleman  than  Josiah  Ryland  never  set  foot 
on  Virginia  soil.  He  determined  to  lay  himself  out  for 
the  pleasure  of  serving  Miss  Sally,  as  she  was  called  after 
marriage,  just  as  she  was  before,  and  he  wrote  her  a  note, 
rich  in  welcome  and  in  love.  They  took  the  train  down 
in  the  city  and  steamed  up  to  the  great  enclosure  in  which 
the  vast  show  was  in  full  blast.  He  bought  tickets,  bade 
her  to  pull  on  his  arm  under  all  the  strains  and  pressures 
of  the  day  and  they  walked  in.  She  went  wild  over  the 
poultry  exhibit ;  she  fairly  had  heart  disease  when  she 
saw  the  huge,  sluggish  porkers  and  was  almost  ready  to 
embrace  some  of  the  beautiful  cows  and  calves  which  she 
found  in  their  stalls.  Presently,  Josiah  suggested  to  her 
that  there  would  be  more  interest  to  her  in  some  of  the 
other  departments,  and  that  they  had  better  go  on  their 
way.  As  they  went  along,  they  crossed  a  very  beautiful 
track  and  Miss  Sally  stopped  to  admire  it. 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    339 

*'You  have  mighty  pretty  roads  over  here,  Josiah," 
she  said.  ^'  You  certainly  beat  us  on  roads  j  we  got  noth- 
ing of  this  sort  in  Chesterfield. '^ 

''This  is  not  a  road,  Miss  Sally,"  Josiah  replied  in  a 
tone  of  gentle  chiding. 

"  I  know  better,"  said  Miss  Sally,  in  a  tone  almost  in- 
dignant. "I  don't  claim  to  know  as  much  as  you  town 
peojDle  know,  but  I  have  got  sense  enough  to  know  a  road 
when  I  see  it ;  and  if  this  is  not  a  road,  I  would  like  to 
know  what  it  is." 

*'  This,"  said  the  masterful  Josiah,  solemn  as  the  king 
of  Persia,  on  the  outside,  but  having  a  very  circus  of 
amusement  on  his  inside,  ' '  is  what  we  call  over  here  a 
race  track." 

*'What,  Josiah,  a  race-track?  You  don't  mean  that 
you  have  races  at  this  thing,  do  you  ?  " 

Josiah,  in  a  truly  regretful  tone,  admitted  that  they  did 
race  horses  there,  and  thereupon  Miss  Sally  demanded 
with  noisy  vehemence  that  she  be  taken  out  of  the  place 
at  once,  asking  Josiah  what  he  supposed  the  people  of 
Bethlehem  would  think  of  her  if  they  heard  that  she  had 
been  attending  horse-races  in  the  city  of  RichmoDd.  She 
was  up  for  war  and  for  getting  out  in  short  order.  Josiah 
took  out  his  watch  and  noted  the  time.  He  told  her  that 
it  was  then  not  quite  eleven,  and  that  the  races  were 
scheduled  to  begin  at  twelve.  He  assured  her  that  she 
could  see  quite  a  deal  of  what  was  perfectly  innocent  and 
then  have  time  for  withdrawing  before  the  horses  began 
to  run.  Miss  Sally  was  a  little  incredulous  and  felt  that 
she  was  in  a  world  which  did  not  suit  lier,  and  it  was 
only  after  she  had  extracted  most  solemn  and  repeated 
promises  from  Josiah  that  nothing  should  happen  to  her, 
that  she  consented  to  go  on.  They  went  into  the  ma- 
chinery building,  the  agricultural  building,  the  ladies^ 
rooms,  where  needlework,  pickles,  bread,  cake  and  ever 


340  ALONG  THE  TKAIL 

so  many  other  things  greatly  delighted  the  innocent- 
hearted  Miss  Sally.  Finally  they  came  in  sight  of  an 
odd  structure  quite  high  up  in  the  air. 

''What  is  that,  I'd  like  to  know?'^  said  Miss  Sally. 
"I  never  saw  a  thing  like  that  before  in  my  life  and  I 
can't  see  what  they  want  with  it.'^ 


That,''  said  Josiah,  "  is  the  judges'  stand. 


"None  of  your  foolin',  now,  Josiah,"  she  said,  with  a 
sharp  look  ;  "you  know  they  don't  hold  court  uj)  there  in 
a  place  like  that ;  what  can  judges  do  up  there  1 " 

For  once  Josiah' s  stately  dignity  broke  its  holding- 
back  straps  and  he  told  Miss  Sally,  in  the  midst  of  much 
merriment  and  laughter,  that  the  judges  who  occupied 
that  lofty  perch  did  no  business  except  to  decide  which 
of  the  horses  won  the  prizes  as  they  ran  in  the  races. 

Miss  Sally  flamed  with  righteous  wrath.  She  declared 
that  it  was  unworthy  of  men  to  countenance  the  cruelty 
of  the  race-track,  and  that  all  of  it  ought  to  be  stopped. 
Josiah  told  her  that  her  view  of  the  subject  was  most 
creditable  to  her,  and  if  her  doctrines  could  be  universally 
adopted,  Virginia  would  have  the  greatest  government 
in  the  world. 

As  they  moved  along,  they  neared  the  railing  which 
barred  off  the  race- track  from  the  rest  of  the  grounds,  and 
a  number  of  men  were  leading  some  exceedingly  beauti- 
ful horses  up  and  down  the  track.  Miss  Sally  caught 
sight  of  these  horses  ;  she  had  a  soul  for  horses  ;  a  pretty 
horse  was  a  poem  to  her,  and  she  was  outspoken  in  her 
admiration  of  the  horses  and  especially  of  one.  She 
stopped  outright  and  fixed  her  thoughts  on  that  horse. 

Josiah  took  out  his  watch  and  gave  Miss  Sally  a  shake 
and  said,  "We  had  better  get  out  of  here,  for  it  is  almost 
time  for  the  races." 

Miss  Sally  seized  his  arm  and  told  him  in  fiery  terms 
that  he  knew  better  than  to  let  her  be  caught  in  those 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    341 

grounds  when  any  of  that  wicked  racing  was  going  on. 
Accordingly,  Josiah  began  to  pull  his  saintly  charge  in 
the  direction  of  the  gate  but  she  stopped. 

''Josiah,"  she  said,  "did  you  notice  that  gray  horse 
that  they  were  leading  along  beyond  that  fence  1 " 

Josiah  admitted  that  the  horse  did  not  command  his 
notice  and  he  also  worked  in  another  suggestion  that 
they  had  better  pull  for  the  gate. 

''Now,  look  here,  Josiah,"  Miss  Sally  said,  "I  would 
like  for  you  to  see  that  gray  horse.  I  never  saw  anything 
finer  and  I'd  like  for  you  to  go  back  with  me  and  look 
at  it,"  and  Josiah,  with  some  outward  show  of  remon- 
strance, let  her  lead  him  back  to  the  fence.  There  was 
the  horse,  and  Miss  Sally  went  int©  ecstasies.  ''  Oh,  you 
dear  beauty  ! "  she  said.  "Look  at  her,  Josiah  ;  look  at 
her  neck,  how  finely  it  arches  ;  look  at  her  ears,  how 
prettily  they  stand  up  ;  look  at  her  eye  with  the  sense  of 
men  in  it ;  look  at  her  legs,  so  trim  and  fine." 

Josiah  gave  her  a  rather  violent  pull  and  told  her  that 
it  was  of  the  greatest  importance  that  they  should  get  out 
within  a  few  minutes  or  it  would  go  to  Bethlehem  that 
she  had  attended  the  races. 

"You  dare  say  so,"  Miss  Sally  said,  scornfully. 
"  Take  me  out  of  here  ;  I'll  blame  you  long  as  I  live  if  I 
get  mixed  up  with  this  horse-racing,'^  and  away  they 
went  towards  the  distant  gate. 

Just  then,  however,  there  was  a  great  roaring  shout  on 
the  right  and  Miss  Sally  unconsciously  turned  her  head 
that  way  and  asked  what  it  meant.  Josiah,  with  gravity 
depicted  on  his  face,  told  her  that  the  horses  had  started, 
and  her  quick  eye  caught  the  gray  as  she  swept  along 
in  plain  view.  Miss  Sally  went  wild  with  excite- 
ment. 

"Oh,  Josiah!  will  you  look?"  she  exclaimed  ex- 
citedly.    "  Just  watch  the  gray.     Ain't  she  going  ?  don't 


342  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

she  fly?  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it  1 "  Then  the 
horse  turned  the  circle  and  was  out  of  sight. 

Miss  Sally  turned  upon  the  wicked  Josiah  and  fairly 
blasted  him  with  her  scornful  indignation.  ^'  Allow  me 
to  say,  sir,  that  if  you  are  not  willing  to  take  me  out  of 
this  place,  show  me  the  gate  ;  I  have  got  sense  j  I  can  go 
out  of  here  without  you  and  if  you  want  to  stay  here  and 
watch  these  races  and  bet  on  them,  if  you  choose,  you 
can  do  it ;  I  am  a-going  out  of  here." 

Josiah  melted  with  penitence  and  told  her  he  always 
was  bad  and  did  not  believe  that  he  would  ever  recover. 
He  took  all  the  blame  and  was  making  a  valiant  effort  to 
take  Miss  Sally  to  the  gate. 

About  that  time  the  people  began  to  shout  over  on  the 
other  side  of  the  grounds  and  their  roar  was  tremendous. 

^*I  never  saw  such  a  pack  of  fools  in  my  life,  Josiah," 
she  said  ;  '*  what  on  earth,  is  the  matter  with  them  ?" 

^' Why,  Miss  Sally,  the  horses  are  coming  back  around 
that  way." 

''Take  me  out;  take  me  out;  take  me  out!"  she 
shouted,  to  the  amusement  of  many  around  her.  Un- 
consciously, however,  she  turned  her  eye  in  the  direction 
that  Josiah  told  her  the  horses  were  coming  around. 
She  caught  sight  of  the  gray  as  she  swept  with  the  speed 
of  light  along  at  the  head  of  the  racers.  Miss  Sally  for- 
got everything  on  earth,  her  beloved  Bethlehem  included. 
She  turned  full  face,  screamed  and  shouted  at  the  top  of 
her  voice,  ' '  Go  it,  Gray  !  Look,  Joshua  !  Go  it.  Gray  ! 
Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it?  Hurrah  for  the 
gray  !  Hurrah  for  the  gray  !  Go  it,  Gray  !  Josiah,  I  bet 
you  a  dollar  that  the  gray  gets  there  first."  The  gray 
did  beat. 

It  is  believed  there  never  was  as  much  holy  indigna- 
tion turned  loose  on  the  fair-ground  at  one  time  as  Miss 
Sally  set  free  when  the  thing  was  over.     She  gave  Josiah 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    343 

a  lambasting  from  which  he  never  recovered.  She  turned 
her  back  on  him  bodily  and  said  that  she  did  not  want 
him  to  go  out  with  her.  But  she  wished  it  understood, 
when  she  got  back  to  Bethlehem,  she  was  so  offended  by 
the  horse-racing  that  she  deserted  Josiah  and  went  out 
by  herself.  Josiah  was  imperturbable,  the  essence  of 
nobility,  and  as  serious  as  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
American  Republic.  He  told  Miss  Sally  that  it  was  all 
right,  nobody  need  know  anything  about  it,  he  under- 
stood that  this  matter  of  horse-racing  was  against  her 
conscience  and  he  did  not  blame  her  in  the  least. 

It  is  not  claimed  that  this  story  is  outwardly  consistent, 
and  there  is  not  the  faintest  suspicion  as  to  the  sincerity 
and  devoutness  of  Miss  Sally.  Bethlehem  never  had  a 
more  devoted  member  ;  religion  never  had  a  truer  friend 
nor  public  morality  a  more  valiant  guardian  than  Miss 
Sally.  At  the  same  time,  some  of  her  forebears  had 
handed  down  to  her  a  sporting  strain,  a  love  of  contest, 
a  pride  in  horses  and  a  joy  in  having  your  side  beat,  that 
got  in  its  work  that  day.  Miss  Sally  knew  that  it  was  not 
her,  not  the  best  of  her,  that  went  wild  on  the  horse-race, 
and  so  fully  was  she  convinced  of  this  that  she  thought  it 
was  no  part  of  her  and,  likely  enough,  in  the  Lord's  eyes 
it  was  no  part  of  her. 

The  Man  and  His  Oats 

The  ludicrous  and  the  serious,  apparently  so  uncon- 
genial, often  dwell  in  adjacent  tenements,  with  the  sepa- 
rating partitions  so  thin  that  one  can  sometimes  break 
through  and  subdue  the  other.  In  the  story  to  follow  I 
give  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  oddest,  most  ascetic,  and  yet 
withal  the  most  humorous  of  men. 

I  went  out  from  Richmond  to  help  a  very  young  pastor 
in  a  very  weak  church  in  revival  services.  The  young 
man  had  worked  wisely,  and  the  outlook  was  inspiring. 


344  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

He  took  me  to  the  home  of  an  elderly  merchant  farmer 
to  spend  the  night,  warning  me  as  we  went  along  that  I 
would  find  a  bundle  of  eccentricities  incarnated  in  our 
host  for  the  night.  I  can  testify  that  the  old  gentleman 
lived  up  to  his  recommendations  that  night.  His  Euglish 
was  badly  shattered,  but  he  was  quick  of  mind,  brim- 
ming with  humor,  sarcastic,  defiant  and  skeptical.  As 
soon  as  supper  was  over  he  opened  fire.  He  slashed  the 
preachers,  plucked  the  churches,  and  sneered  revivals 
out  of  countenance.  I  think  I  never  heard  any  man  make 
a  more  clever  or  damaging  assault  upon  religion  as  em- 
bodied in  individuals  and  churches  of  that  day.  Much 
that  he  said  was  true,  and  so  intermixed  with  what  was 
not  true,  that  it  was  hard  to  handle  him.  Indeed  I  gave 
him  full  rein,  and  expressed  approval  of  many  things 
that  he  said.  He  ran  riot  with  invective,  and  seemed  for 
a  while  intoxicated  with  the  sense  of  victory. 

Finally  he  got  down  to  details,  and  among  other  things 
denounced  the  modern  way  of  receiving  people  into  the 
membership  of  the  church.  *^  I  believe,"  he  said,  ''that 
when  persons  join  the  church  they  ought  to  be  required 
to  stand  up  before  the  congregation  and  begin  at  the  be- 
ginning and  tell  step  by  step  the  path  by  which  they  have 
come.  If  they  are  really  converted,  as  they  say  they  are, 
they  ought  to  be  made  to  get  up  and  tell  their  experience." 
Turning  suddenly  to  me,  he  asked  with  great  intensity 
if  I  did  not  agree  with  him.  It  was  about  the  first  op- 
portunity he  had  given  me  to  say  anything. 

''Well,  now,"  I  said,  rather  slowly,  "I  do  agree  with 
you  that  when  people  who  come  to  join  the  church  can 
stand  on  their  feet  and  tell  distinctly  and  impressively  the 
story  of  their  conversion,  it  is  a  noble  thing  to  do.  Such 
a  testimony  refreshes  the  church,  and  goes  home  to  the 
hearts  of  others.  But  I  must  say  to  you  that  when  I 
joined  the  church  I  was  a  verdant  mountain  lad,  never 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    345 

had  uttered  a  word  in  public  in  my  life,  had  a  very  dim 
idea  as  to  what  I  would  be  expected  to  tell,  and  I  really 
believe  if  I  had  tried  it,  I  should  have  gone  all  to  pieces. 
Indeed  it  frightened  me  to  leave  my  seat,  and  go  forward 
when  I  presented  myself  to  the  church  for  membership. 
Now  you  have  a  glib  and  ready  tongue,  and  I  suppose  if 
you  were  going  to  join  the  church  it  would  be  easy  for  you 
to  stand  before  any  assemblage  and  tell  the  story  of  your 
conversion  without  the  least  confusion."  He  sat  silent 
for  a  minute  and  said  with  quite  a  change  in  his  tone,  * '  I 
couldn't  do  it  to  save  my  life.'' 

Then  I  said  quietly,  ^'  You  put  it  a  little  too  strong  that 
time,  didn't  you?" 

*' Expect  I  did,"  he  said  bluntly.  ^*  But  never  mind 
about  that.  Let  us  have  prayers  and  go  to  bed."  His 
wife  reported  the  next  morning  that  he  did  not  rest  well 
during  the  night. 

He  came  out  on  the  porch  next  morning  and  announced 
with  dogged  emphasis  that  I  need  not  expect  him  to  go  to 
church  that  day,  and  shot  back  into  the  house  as  if 
stricken  with  terror.  I  said  nothing  at  the  time.  When 
he  reappeared  to  beg  that  I  would  not  think  hard  of  him 
for  not  going  to  church,  as  it  was  very  important  that  he 
should  look  after  his  oats,  which,  owing  to  excessive  rains, 
were  in  danger  of  rotting,  '^  By  all  means  you  must  go," 
I  said  with  cheerful  earnestness.  Back  he  rushed  again 
into  the  house.     But  quite  soon  was  back  again. 

^'No  use  of  talking,"  he  said,  ^'I've  been  out  to  see 
about  the  oats,  and  they  are  in  very  bad  condition.  I 
cannot  think  of  going  to  church  to-day." 

^'  Let  the  oats  rot,"  I  said,  emboldened  by  his  defensive 
attitude.  **  Your  soul  is  worth  all  the  oats  in  this  world, 
and  I  cannot  leave  you  here  to-day.  Get  ready  and  let 
us  start."  He  hardly  waited  for  my  words  before  he  was 
gone.     In  a  little  while  his  wife,  a  noble  Christian  woman, 


346  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

who  had  been  watching  the  battle  from  the  back  porch, 
dashed  in  through  the  hall  and  said  with  a  glad  whisper, 
''  He's  going.  He  says  that  you  seem  to  be  so  anxious 
about  it  he  will  have  to  go." 

The  fact  is,  the  Lord's  hand  was  upon  him.  That  day 
he  took  a  stand  for  Christ  and  was  a  new  man.  Some 
time  afterwards  I  asked  him  how  his  oats  came  out  and 
he  smilingly  said  every  grain  of  them  rotted. 

I  told  him  I  was  glad  they  did,  else  he  might  have  felt 
that  God  worked  a  miracle  to  pay  him  for  going  to  church, 
adding  that  the  Lord  did  not  pay  people  to  be  converted. 

The  Aetichoke 
In  my  early  ministry  I  attended  a  great  religious  as- 
sembly in  Charleston,  S.  C,  the  members  of  which 
were  munificently  entertained  in  the  Charleston  homes. 
There  was  an  exceedingly  rich  banker  who  applied  for 
several  ministerial  celebrities,  who  were  to  be  in  attend- 
ance upon  the  convention,  but  unluckily  for  him,  all 
those  famous  men  had  been  spoken  for  and  his  house 
was  left  desolate.  It  grieved  him  exceedingly,  and  he 
complained  quite  obstinately  about  it  to  Colonel  Presley, 
then  a  noted  lawyer  of  that  city  and  a  gentleman  of  most 
attractive  social  qualities.  The  colonel  told  him  not  to 
be  downhearted  but  to  prepare  the  very  finest  dinner  that 
had  ever  loaded  his  table  and  leave  to  him  the  task  of 
selecting  the  guests.  The  colonel  selected  a  number  of  the 
convention  gentlemen  who  were  not  encumbered  with  ex- 
traordinary fame,  and  who  were  not  in  peril  of  being  en- 
tangled with  many  engagements.  Under  this  arrange- 
ment and  through  the  partiality  of  Judge  Presley,  I  was 
selected  as  one  of  the  guests  for  the  dinner.  Be  it  said 
that  the  dinner  was  to  begin  at  3  :  30,  though  possibly  it 
may  have  been  delayed  somewhat,  and  at  a  quarter  of 
eight  it  had  ever  so  many  courses  yet  to  come,  and  I  was 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    347 

constrained  to  ask  to  be  excused  at  that  time  because  I 
had  an  important  engagement  for  supper. 

The  supply  of  ladies  for  the  dinner  was  pitiably  scant, 
and  of  the  few,  Colonel  Presley  and  myself  fell  heir  to 
one,  though  candor  compels  me  to  say  that  Colonel  Pres- 
ley heired  about  nineteen -twentieths  of  her.  And  in  their 
infrequent  periods  of  silence,  with  gracious  benevolence 
she  turned  to  see  how  I  was  prospering  under  the  embar- 
rassment of  my  situation.  This  arrangement  did  not  help 
me  any,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  be  left  in  silence  to  keep 
up  my  guards  against  such  misadventures  as  might  befall 
me  in  my  limited  experience  in  Charleston  festivities. 

Another  misfortune  of  the  dinner  which  struck  me  was 
the  fact  that  I  sat  at  the  corner  of  the  table  where  the 
serving  of  the  courses  commenced,  so  I  had  no  precedent 
to  aid  me  in  tackling  such  dishes  as  I  had  not  met  with 
before.  At  first  the  lady  at  my  side  took  enough  interest 
in  me  to  cause  her  to  turn  around  with  the  beginning  of 
the  course  and  see  that  I  was  started  off  in  a  respectable 
way.  In  the  course  of  time,  or  rather  in  the  course  of 
many  courses,  the  good  lady  was  so  interested  with  the 
party  of  the  second  part  on  the  other  side,  so  delighted 
with  her  dinner  or  possibly  so  tired  of  her  stupid  attend- 
ant on  the  other  side,  that  she  ceased  to  keep  watch 
over  me. 

The  butler  swung  up  to  me  with  a  vast  tray  in  his 
hands,  and  some  of  the  most  extraordinary  things  lay  in 
it  that  I  had  never  seen.  I  eyed  them  and  knew  at  once 
that  I  had  never  seen  them.  He  was  superbly  dressed, 
very  stately  in  manner,  and  I  confess  that  I  was  a  little 
afraid  of  him  anyhow.  He  stood  there  as  if  he  had  come 
to  spend  the  evening,  and  finally  he  asked  me  if  I  would 
have  one  of  the  ^'  artichokes  "  ?  Now  in  old  Virginia  in 
our  vegetable  garden  we  raised  a  thing  which  we  called 
artichokes  which  somebody  said  was  a  poor  and  unrecog- 


348  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

nized  relative  of  the  sweet  potato.  But  the  Charlestonian 
artichoke  was  quite  a  different  thing.  It  was  as  large  as 
a  grown  man's  fist  and  struck  me  as  a  cross  between  a 
pineapple  and  a  pine  burr.  Being  all  alone  in  the  world 
and  nobody  to  advise  me,  I  said  to  the  butler  with  great 
deference  that  I  would  not  have  an  artichoke  that  day. 
He  gave  me  a  look  which  expressed  several  opinions  and 
went  on,  and  everybody  took  an  artichoke  but  me.  Mean- 
while the  butler  broke  the  prolonged  engagement  between 
the  colonel  and  the  fair  lady  in  question  and  the  latter 
turned  to  see  how  I  was  doing.  I  was  not  doing  at  all ! 
I  was  sitting  there  the  incarnation  of  idleness  and  awk- 
wardness. *'Oh,"  she  said,  ''you  haven't  any  arti- 
choke. John,  why  didn't  you  give  Doctor  Hatcher  an 
artichoke?  Bring  the  tray  here  at  once!"  and  asked 
me  if  I  did  not  like  artichokes.  I  intimated  to  her  that 
I  had  taken  lessons  in  artichokes  in  Virginia  in  the  j^ri- 
mary  class,  but  that  my  education  had  been  totally  neg- 
lected as  to  Charlestonian  artichokes,  and  that  under  the 
uncertainties  of  the  case,  I  had  decided  not  to  take  any 
artichokes  in  my  course.  She  would  hot  hear  to  it.  John 
came  back  with  the  artichokes  and  he  swung  out  two 
plates,  one  for  the  artichoke  and  one  for  the  peelings. 
With  altogether  unnecessary  emphasis  she  instructed  me 
how  to  tackle  the  mysterious  thing  and  did  it  in  such  a 
way  that  the  eyes  of  all  at  the  table  were  turned  to  me, 
and  I  discovered  an  unmistakable  twinkle  in  them.  I 
turned  as  red  as  the  artichoke  and  I  wished  that  either  I 
or  the  artichoke  had  never  been  born.  The  butler  showed 
decided  malice  m  selecting  the  biggest  one  on  the  tray 
and  landed  it  on  my  plate.  The  lady  told  me  that  it  was 
the  most  delicious  thing  in  the  world,  but  that  the  de- 
licious part  of  it  was  hidden  away  on  the  inside,  and  that 
I  must  pull  out  each  one  of  the  little  ears  that  shot  out  in 
scores  if  not  in  hundreds  all  over  it,  and  that  some  of  it 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOR  ALONG  THE  WAY    349 

would  be  on  the  end  of  each  one  of  these  little  ears  and  that 
I  must  stick  each  into  the  butter  and  salt  that  lay  ready  at 
my  hand,  and  then  bite  off  the  end  and  throw  the  other  part 
into  my  other  plate.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there  were 
about  four  or  five  hundred  of  these  little  ears,  and  I  be- 
gan with  an  assumed  familiarity  on  the  artichokes  that  I 
hoped  would  deceive  the  very  elect,  and  I  pulled  out  these 
little  things  one  by  one,  dabbled  them  in  the  melted  but- 
ter and  salt,  took  my  bite  at  them  and  then  put  the  other 
end  into  the  extra  plate.  As  soon  as  I  began  to  work  at 
it  my  friend  remembered  that  one  of  the  most  charming 
gentlemen  in  the  world  was  on  the  other  side  of  her  and 
she  dropped  me  and  was  happy  once  more.  I  do  not 
wish  to  lie  about  it,  but  I  express  the  opinion  that  I 
pulled  out,  buttered,  bit  off  and  threw  away  somewhere 
between  two  hundred  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  those 
little  ear  lets.  My  arm  got  tired,  my  jaw  got  resentful 
for  having  to  make  so  many  bites  with  so  little  results, 
and  all  the  while  my  palate  was  aching  for  the  good  part 
that  was  on  the  inside,  of  which  I  had  been  told. 

The  kindest  of  women  was  a  long  way  from  remember- 
ing that  I  was  in  the  world,  much  less  that  I  was  in  a  sea 
of  troubles  with  the  artichoke.  Feeling  sure  that  she 
was  not  coming  back  I  stopped  buttering  and  stopped 
biting  ;  I  had  filled  one  plate  and  surreptitiously  secured 
another  and  began  to  pile  into  that,  and  finally  the  hated 
thing  was  utterly  demolished  by  the  stroke'^of  my  knife. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  solid  base  on  top  of  which  lay 
a  substance,  hot,  snow-white  and  innocent-looking.  I  said 
to  myself,  '^  I  have  reached  it  at  last ;  this  is  the  inner  es- 
sence ;  this  is  the  thing  she  told  me  about ;  this  is  the 
most  delicious  thing  in  the  world!''  not  the  least  evi- 
dence of  which  I  had  gotten  by  the  several  hundred  end 
bites  which  I  had  taken  at  the  buttered  and  salted  roots. 
I  took  my  knife  and  whacked  off  an  unnecessarily  lai-ge 


350  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

portion  of  the  tempting  essence,  as  I  supposed  it  was.  I 
applied  the  melted  butter  and  mounted  the  formidable 
slug  full  into  my  mouth.  I  noticed  at  once  that  it  had 
some  sharp  points  in  it,  and  as  I  turned  my  molars  down 
on  it,  my  gums  suffered  several  abrasions,  but  I  thought 
it  was  a  part  of  the  show  and  belonged  to  the  prelimi- 
naries, but  the  more  I  ground  the  thing  the  more  it  went 
into  me,  but  that  was  not  the  serious  aspect  of  the  case 
at  all.  The  more  I  brought  my  teeth  down  upon  it,  the 
more  it  came  back.  It  had  a  rebellious  swell,  and  in- 
stead of  my  extricating  sweetness  from  it,  I  gradually 
turned  it  into  what  seemed  to  be  a  small  haystack,  insur- 
gent, irrepressible,  and  sticking  into  the  roof  of  my  mouth, 
into  my  gums,  fastening  itself  into  my  teeth  and  swelling 
more  and  more  all  the  time.  There  I  was  with  my  mouth 
crammed  down  to  the  pit  of  my  throat  with  something 
that  had  been  swelling  from  the  time  it  went  into  my 
teeth  and  which  swelled  more  every  time  my  teeth  bore 
down  upon  it  and  kept  on  swelling  after  I  had  stopped 
bearing  down  upon  it.  At  last  there  came  a  scream  and 
the  outcry  belonged  to  the  lady  at  my  side,  and  for  that 
moment  at  least  the  colonel  was  left  out  and  I  was 
brought  to  the  centre  of  the  stage.  She  saw  that  some- 
thing had  been  cut  off  from  the  substance  that  I  have 
described  before  and  she  looked  aghast.  ''Oh,  what  a 
mistake,  what  a  mistake  you  have  made,'^  she  almost 
screamed  ;  ''that  part  is  not  eatable  at  all.  That's  what 
they  call  the  choke."  Under  other  circumstances  I 
should  have  informed  her  that  I  had  never  seen  anything 
in  my  life  that  was  more  appropriately  named,  but  for 
reasons  that  I  do  not  give  now,  I  did  not  make  the  re- 
mark. "You  must  get  it  out  of  your  mouth  and  just  as 
soon  as  possible,''  she  said  with  an  emphasis  that  brought 
towards  me  another  look  from  the  entire  table,  every  one 
of  whom  seemed  to  be  enjoying  their  artichokes  and  un- 


GLEAMS  OF  HUMOE  ALONG  THE  WAY    351 

wautonly  eujoyiug  mine  also.  I  told  her,  as  best  I  could 
uuder  the  circumstances,  that  I  was  willing  to  have  the 
thing  out  of  my  mouth  and  that  I  had  energetically  tried 
to  get  it  out  of  my  mouth  by  the  usual  process  that  I  used 
when  I  had  an  eatable  thing  in  my  mouth,  but  that  I  must 
frankly  say  that  with  all  the  pressure  that  I  could  bring 
to  bear,  I  had  not  been  able  to  make  it  budge.  Then  it 
was  that  my  humiliation  touched  bottom  and  I  had  to 
take  the  thing  out  then  and  there.  At  least,  as  much  of 
it  as  did  not  stick  into  my  gums  or  run  into  the  roof  of 
my  mouth,  or  was  not  bristling  all  over  my  tongue  or  had 
not  gotten  too  far  for  recovery. 

I  do  not  think  it  is  necessary  to  continue  this  lamen- 
table story  any  longer.  Several  months  after  that  I 
stepped  onto  a  train  in  the  mountains  of  Virginia  at  the 
hour  of  midnight  and  took  my  seat  in  the  passenger  car. 
It  was  a  cramped  and  joyless  ride,  but  not  long  after  the 
train  had  started  I  heard  a  gurgling  laugh  behind  me, 
and  it  was  very  clearly  evident  that  a  man  was  respon- 
sible for  it.  It  was  not  my  gurgle,  however,  and  I  set 
about  to  forget  it.  But  it  continued,  until  finally  I  heard 
in  a  subdued,  mischievous  tone,  the  terrible  word,  ^'arti- 
choke.'' It  gave  me  a  wrench,  and  it  was  followed  by  a 
louder  laugh,  and  then  the  word  was  repeated  again,  and 
it  was  ingrained  in  my  soul  that  the  villain  who  was  thus 
carrying  on  behind  me  had  me  for  his  victim.  I  straight- 
ened up,  and  with  haughty  isolation  I  started  back  to  the 
water- cooler.  There  he  was,  the  inevitable  and  remorse- 
less Presley.  We  fell  into  each  other's  arms.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  been  in  the  mountains  of  Virginia  for  a  few 
days,  but  that  he  had  spent  his  summer  on  the  beach 
below  Charleston,  and  that  he  and  the  banker  had  their 
summer  homes  close  to  each  other.  He  added  that  it  was 
always  once  a  day,  and  if  there  was  much  company, 
twice  a  day,  that  they  gathered  on  the  veranda  and  re- 


352  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

hearsed  the  story  of  the  artichoke.  He  also  informed  me 
that  the  neighbors  came  in  to  hear  the  story,  and  then 
went  out  and  brought  in  other  neighbors,  and  the  story 
was  told  again. 

Let  the  story  pass,  but  I  have  one  grievance.  He 
promised  to  send  me  a  box  of  artichokes  to  Virginia,  but 
up  to  the  time  that  this  story  is  told,  I  have  not  seen 
another  artichoke. 


XXIII 

THE  HOME-COMING 

IT  has  been  my  happy  fortune  to  mix  with  the  com- 
mon people  through  all  the  years  of  my  ministerial 
life.  I  have  gone  into  their  plain  homes,  ate  many 
a  meal  which  had  been  prepared  with  no  thought  of 
company,  slept  in  their  plain  beds,  talked  far  into  the 
night  around  their  fireside,  and  bowed  with  them  at  their 
altars  and  sought  for  heaven's  blessing.  As  a  pastor, 
much  of  my  best  ministerial  inspiration  was  caught  in 
the  little  houses  of  my  people.  Sometimes  in  their 
plain  little  parlors,  often  by  the  fire  in  the  diniug-room, 
and  times  uncounted  in  the  kitchens,  where  the  house- 
wife was  cooking  her  simple  meal,  or  possibly  bending 
over  her  wash-tub.  In  some  way,  I  loved  God  better 
when  I  was  down  among  the  poor,  and  really  picked  up 
more  in  the  way  of  human  sympathy,  spiritual  insight  and 
heavenly  thought  than  I  ever  got  anywhere  else.  I  have 
felt  sorry  for  ministers  who  belittled  or  dreaded  the  pas- 
toral visit,  but  I  never  sympathized  with  them.  I  never 
got  much  by  visiting  the  rich,  for  they  did  not  have 
much  that  I  coveted,  but  my  mixing  with  the  godly  poor 
always  enriched  me.  They  gave  me  gladness,  they  gave 
me  love,  they  gave  me  glints  of  happy  humor,  they  gave 
me  sermoDS  and  they  gave  me  hope.  Truly,  I  would  like 
to  write  a  book  of  the  plain  houses,  with  their  content- 
ments, their  romances,  their  sorrows  and  their  aspira- 
tions, the  memory  of  which  is  ever  with  me  and  the 
comfort  of  it,  too. 

353 


354:  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

At  a  certain  railroad  junction,  not  far  from  Eichmond, 
there  was  a  water  station  for  the  Karrow  Gauge,  as  it  was 
called,  and  the  water  was  pumped  by  a  noisy,  wheezing 
little  engine,  and  that  engine  was  managed  by  quite  an 
elderly  man  whom  I  used  to  see  ofttimes  when  I  passed 
that  way,  always  in  his  working  clothes  and  blacked  up 
with  the  smoke  and  cinders  of  the  engine-room.  We  used 
to  chat  a  little  and  I  found  him  with  a  heart  full  of  the 
love  of  God,  of  which  he  sometimes  spoke  with  a  gentle- 
ness and  a  glow  that  lasted  me  for  days  afterwards. 

They  built  a  little  church  a  little  way  off  and  had  some 
of  us  out  from  Eichmond  to  dedicate  it.  It  fell  to  my  lot 
to  go  with  this  rugged  old  man  home  for  my  dinner.  It 
was  a  full  mile  we  walked,  and  he  was  sorely  crippled  in 
some  way,  and  it  took  us  quite  a  time  to  make  the  jour- 
ney, and  on  the  way  he  told  me  a  story. 

^'My  boys,"  he  said,  ''are  bad  boys." 

That  was  his  solemn  deliverance,  and  I  prepared  my- 
self for  a  tragic  story. 

' '  Are  they  bad  ?  "  I  asked,  with  undisguised  anxiety. 

He  broke  into  a  laugh  that  had  in  it  the  sweetness  of  a 
better  world  than  this. 

"  If  they  were  bad,  as  some  boys  are  bad,  mother  would 
be  a  dead  woman,"  he  said. 

The  way  he  called  that  word  "  mother,"  evidently  ap- 
plying it  to  his  wife,  was  a  poem  within  itself.  It  told 
right  out  the  greatness  of  his  love,  the  devotion  of  the 
mother  to  the  children,  and  incidentally  let  out  the  fact 
that  their  boys  were  just  the  boys  for  them  to  be  proud  of. 

"Why  did  you  call  them  bad?"  I  asked,  in  a  dog- 
matic and  unsatisfied  tone. 

''Why,"  he  said,  "every  one  of  them  takes  to  rail- 
roading. They  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  my  head,  and  as 
for  mother,  they'd  die  for  her, — die  any  day  it  was  neces- 
sary J  but  it  looked  like  they  were  born  with  railroads  in 


THE  HOME-COMING  355 

their  blood.  The  toot  of  an  engine  made  'em  crow  when 
they  were  babies,  and,  like  ducks  to  the  water,  they  took 
to  the  railroad. 

"It  went  awful  hard  with  mother,  but  she  made  a  con- 
dition that  those  boys  have  always  stood  up  to,  except  the 
last  time,  and  that  was  that  they  did  not  come  home  last 
Christmas.  They  might  come  any  time  and  they'd  git  it 
good  when  they  got  there,  and  they  might  stay  away  and 
she  would  have  nothing  to  say,  but  the  law  went  forth 
that  they  were  to  eat  their  Christmas  dinner  with  mother. 
They  got  on  different  roads  and  did  different  kinds  of 
work.  One  of  'em  was  on  this  road,  and  he  had  a  blow 
when  he  brought  his  engine  by — a  blow  for  mother.  You 
see,  the  road  is  not  far  from  the  house,  and  day  or  night 
she'd  know  that  blow,  and  it  did  her  most  as  much  good 
as  if  the  boy  had  kissed  her.  She  lived  all  the  year 
round  for  the  joy  of  having  the  boys  home  for  Christmas, 
that's  what  mother  did.  And  they  would  come :  they 
came  years  and  years.  Sometimes  it  would  be  way  into 
the  night  of  Christmas  Eve,  and  once  or  twice  in  the 
Christmas  morning. 

' '  And  you  ought  to  have  seen  mother  on  Christmas  Day. 
I  told  her  she  overdid  it  entirely  and  that  Christmas  din- 
ners would  see  me  in  the  poorhouse  yet ;  but  do  you 
reckon  she  cared  ?  She  was  at  it  for  days  and  days  be- 
forehand, fixing  her  spareribs,  her  sausage,  her  polk  ham, 
her  turkey  gobbler,  her  cakes,  her  pies  of  all  sorts,  her 
custards,  her  big  apples,  her  canned  peaches  ;  bless  me, 
'twas  enough  for  a  camp-meeting,  and  all  of  it  for  them 
railroading  boys. 

''  I  reckon  I  ought  to  say  that  they  were  worthy  of  all 
that  they  got ;  not  a  drop  of  whiskey  would  they  touch  ; 
no  bad  company  for  them  j  no  puttin'  on  airs  when  they 
come  home.  Mother  said  they  were  just  as  clean  inno- 
cent as  when  they  used  to  lay  sleeping  on  her  breast.     I 


356  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

reckon  she  was  partial, — all  tlie  mothers  seem  so  to  me, 
but  I  kiuder  felt  about  the  same  as  mother  did.  lu  fact 
I  couldn't  wait  to  see  'em  patient  as  she  could,  but  I 
reckon  she  didn't  talk  about  it  much  as  I  did  and  maybe 
felt  it  more  than  I  did,  for  she  thought  all  the  world  of 
her  three  boys. 

"  Well,  one  Christmas  things  went  wrong.  The  boys 
didn't  tell  us  certain  they  were  coming  ;  they  didn't  think 
it  worth  while  ;  we  knew  they'd  come  when  they  could 
and  there  wasn't  any  time  day  or  night  when  mother 
wasn't  ready  to  open  the  door  for  them.  Christmas  Eve 
came  and  no  boys.  Christmas  morning  came  ;  no  boys. 
Dinner  came  and  'twas  the  biggest  of  all.  Mother  looked 
so  serious  when  she  was  fixin'  it  that  I  had  to  go  out  into 
the  back  yard  two  or  three  times  and  cry  because  she 
looked  so  pale  and  uneasy.  We  hardly  touched  the  din- 
ner. Trains  came  along  and  we'd  look  down  to  see,  but 
they  didn't  come,  and  the  sun  went  down  on  Christmas 
Day  and  not  one  of  our  boys  had  stepped  on  our  porch 
or  jumped  in  to  hug  mother.  I  don't  reckon  I  ever  felt 
more  awful,  though  I  might  have  stood  it  if  I  could  have 
kept  my  eyes  off  of  mother's  face.  We  sat  up  late  and 
talked  and  wondered  and  felt  very  miserable,  but  just 
before  late  bedtime  one  of  the  boys,  our  baby  boy, 
mother  always  calls  him  '  Baby,^  he  got  home.  It  almost 
made  the  matters  worse  with  us.  It  looked  like  Christ- 
mas was  not  only  gone  but  that  our  family  was  broken 
up.  We  talked  right  late,  but  our  poor  boy  had  worked 
two  solid  nights  so  as  to  get  home  at  all,  and  he  got  sleepy 
and  mother  told  him  he  must  go  up-stairs  and  rest.  Our 
chamber  was  down-stairs  ;  we  always  slept  down  there  ; 
though  I  don' t  think  mother  slept  at  all  those  nights. 

'^  As  for  me  I  am  a  heavy  sleeper  ;  I  am  so  fleshy  and 
knocked  up  with  rheumatism  that  I'm  dead  tired  when 
night  comes  and  mother  says  that  she  sometimes  thinks  I 


THE  HOME-COMING  357 

am  dead,  having  died  suddenly  in  the  bed, — so  still  she 
says  I  always  lie. 

'^That  night  the  trials  of  the  day  and  the  grief  on 
mother's  face  knocked  me  up  and  for  a  long  time  I 
couldn't  sleep  a  wink  ;  but  way  towards  day  I  dozed  off, 
but  suddenly  I  heard  a  step  on  the  back  porch.  Mother 
sprang  clean  out  of  the  bed  and  said  as  she  sprang, 
'  There  he  is  ;  that's  Ben's  step  j  blessed  be  God,  he  has 
come  at  last.' 

''  They  had  it  out  on  the  porch.  All  I  had  to  do  was 
to  touch  a  match  and  start  the  blaze,  and  I  did  that  be- 
fore I  saw  Ben,  and  almost  in  no  time  the  shavings  and 
dry  wood  were  shooting  their  blazes  up  the  chimney. 
We  sat  and  talked  quite  a  while,  when  suddenly  Ben  said  : 

"  *  What  about  the  boys,  mother  ?    Have  they  come  ?  ^ 

^' '  Just  look  at  that,'  I  said.  '  Ben,  you  filled  us  up  so 
that  we  positively  forgot  that  we  had  any  other  boys.' 

"  Then  it  was  that  we  told  him  that  his  little  brother 
was  up -stairs,  and  up  he  jumped  and  was  about  to  dash 
up  the  steps,  but  mother  said  in  a  sweet  way  : 

''  ^  Don't  wake  him,  Ben  ;  baby  looked  so  tired  to- 
night,' and  Ben  gave  it  up  and  we  talked  some  more. 

"  ^  Mother,'  said  Ben,  '  what's  become  of  my  'cordion  ?  ^ 

''  I  hadn't  told  you  that  Ben  was  a  musician.  He  al- 
ways loved  his  accordion  and  mother  never  got  tired  of 
listening  to  him.  You  better  believe  that  she  had  that 
'cordion  nicely  wrapped  up  and  put  away  where  nothing 
could  harm  it.  She  was  up  quick  enough,  I  tell  you,  and 
soon  handed  it  to  Ben.  It  made  my  eyes  wet  to  see  how 
glad  Ben  was  to  get  the  old  instrument  in  his  hands  again. 
He  worked  it  a  little  bit  and  got  it  fixed  and  then  he 
struck  to  playing.  Of  course  mother  couldn't  stand  it ; 
it  brought  up  so  much  to  her,  and  while  she  didn't  move 
I  saw  the  tears  shining  on  her  happy  old  face  and  I  felt 
just  too  happy  to  move  or  speak. 


858  ALONG  THE  TRAIL 

"Presently  Ben  began  to  sing.  He  was  a  powerful 
singer,  I  tell  you  he  was.  He  didn't  have  one  of  them 
loud,  rough  voices,  but  there  was  something  in  his  sing- 
ing that  went  to  your  bones.  You  could  feel  it  going  all 
through  you,  and  folks  used  to  come  miles  to  our  house 
before  Ben  went  away  to  get  him  to  sing  for  them,  and  he 
was  always  ready.  He  didn't  put  on  any  foolish  airs 
about  it. 

"  ''Mid  scenes  of  confusion  and  creatures'  complaints.' 
That  of  course  was  'Home,  Sweet  Home.'  It  was  al- 
ways mother's  favorite,  and  it  looked  like  it  come  in  that 
night  nicer  than  anything  as  he  went  on  singing  it,  and 
when  he  got  to  Home,  Sweet  Home,  I  really  thought  he 
would  break  down.  I  never  heard  his  voice  tremble  so, 
and  as  for  mother,  she  just  put  her  head  down  on  my 
shoulder  and  sobbed  it  out  all  right. 

' '  It  seemed  to  wake  up  something  new  in  Ben,  and  he 
pretty  soon  got  into  the  second  verse,  and  when  he  struck 
the  chorus  I  never  heard  anything  like  it.  I  really 
thought  it  could  be  heard  all  the  way  to  heaven,  and  I 
reckon  it  was.  It  just  topped  off  anything  that  I  had 
ever  heard.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  because  Ben 
had  improved  or  because  he  got  inspired  that  night.  His 
voice  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  house,  and  I  almost  felt  like 
I  could  fly,  and  when  he  repeated  the  chorus  I  heard  a 
noise  up-stairs.  Little  brother, — we  never  could  stop 
calling  him  that,— had  sprung  out  of  bed,  and  he  took  up 
the  tune,— he  up-stairs  and  Ben  down-stairs,  and  they 
both  sang  ;  but  it  wasn't  long  before  they  were  in  each 
other's  arms,  and  there  in  the  late  night,  us  four  were 
happy  together, — too  happy  ever  to  tell ;  if  heaven  will 
be  that  happy  when  we  get  there  it  will  be  all  that  I  could 
ask  and  a  thousand  times  more  than  I  could  ever  expect. 
Presently  things  quieted  down  some  and  we  talked  to- 
gether until  the  dim  light  of  the  morning  dawned  on  the 


THE  HOME-COMING  359 

window,  and  Ben  struck  up  his  song  again  and  we  all 
sang  it.  Mother  sang  like  an  angel ;  at  least  I  thought 
so,  and  the  boys  just  outwent  themselves,  and  would  you 
believe  it,  while  we  were  all  singing  and  fairly  shouting 
together,  all  in  a  twinkle  the  back  door  flew  wide  open 
and  in  jumi3ed  somebody.  It  was  Tom,  our  middle  boy. 
He  was  the  last  to  get  there,  but  he  was  there.  Don't  for- 
get i  hat ;  he  was  there.  It  took  him  a  long  time  and  he 
was  late,  but  there  he  was  in  the  gray  of  that  morning, 
and  what  do  you  reckon  mother  did  ?  She  sprang  up  on 
her  feet  and  made  a  little  speech.  Just  think  of  mother 
making  a  speech  ;  but  she  did  it  just  the  same,  and  all 
right,  and  this  is  what  she  said  : 

i  i  i  \Ye  got  the  almanac  wrong.  "VYe  thought  it  was 
Christmas  yesterday,  but  we  know  better  now.  This  is 
our  Christmas.  Our  best  Christmas  ;  the  best  Christmas 
anybody  ever  had,  and  just  as  they  had  always  done  be- 
fore my  boys  are  home  for  Christmas  Day.^ 

*' And,  doctor,  would  you  believe  it,  I,  poor,  blundering, 
stupid  old  me,  had  to  turn  round  and  make  'em  a  speech 
too.  What  did  I  say?  I  said,  'Mother,  that's  the  way 
with  our  boys ;  thej^  always  come  home.  They  will  go 
away;  we  can't  help  that;  we  have  to  separate,  but, 
mother,  they  always  come  back,  and  after  a  while  you  and 
I  will  move  away  ourselves,  and  we'll  have  another  home 
far  better  than  this,  up  in  our  Father's  house,  and  we'll 
be  looking  out  and  wondering  when  our  boys  will  come. 
They  may  be  late ;  they  may  not  come  together,  but  they 
will  come,  and  we'll  all  be  home  for  a  Christmas  that  will 
never  end.'  '^ 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


COLUMBIA   UNIVERSITY   LIBRARIES 

This  book  is  due  on  the  date  indicated  below,  or  at  the 
expiration  of  a  definite  period  after  the  date  of  borrowing,  as 
provided  by  the  library  rules  or  by  special  arrangement  with 
the  Librarian  in  charge. 

DATE  BORROWED 

DATE  DUE 

DATE  BORROWED 

DATE  DUE 

C28(n49)  lOOM 

938,5 


H283 


:.T»«^a-jiw.-  ..jti^^-fv" 


938.5 


H283 


Hatcher 

Along  the  trail  of  the  friendly 


years 


BRITtLEDOMOt 
PHOTOCOPY 


